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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

MRS.    ALFRED  W.     INGALLS 


•♦* 


'> 


THINGS   SEEN    IN  VENICE 


BACINO    DI    S.    MARCO 
(The  Basin  of  St.  Mark) 


Characteristic  gondola  in  motion,  with  Punta  della  Salute  in  background. 


THINGS    SEEN    IN 
VENICE 

BY 

LONSDALE  R^GG,  B.D.  (Oxon) 

PREBENDARY  OF   BUCKDEN   IN   LINCOLN   CATHEDRAL 
AUTHOR   OF    "  DANTE   AND  HIS   ITALY" 

AND 

LAURA   M.   RAGG 

AUTHOR   OF    "  THE  WOMEN   ARTISTS   OF   BOLOGNA  " 


WITH    FIFTY    ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON  AND  COMPANY 

31  West  Twenty-Third  Street 

1912 

siH 


ALLA 

CARA  AMIGA 

ALETHEA  WIEL-LAWLEY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    FIRST    IMPRESSIONS             -  -  -          1? 

II.    THE    G-RAND    CANAL            -  -  -39 

III.  THE    HEART    OF    VENICE  -  -           78 

IV.  VENICE    ON    FOOT                 -  -  -       119 
V.    THE    LAGOON       -                   -  -  -        151 

VI.    FASTS    AND    FESTIVALS       ■  -  -184 

VII.    VARIA    -                   -                   -  -  -       218 

INDEX  -               ...  -      249 


IX 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

BACiNo  Di  s.  MARCO-  -  FroiiUspiece 

THE    BRONZE    HORSES    OF    ST.    MARK        -  -  XV 

THE    GIUDECCA    CANAL                   -  -  -  20 

A    PICTURESQUE    CORNER              -  -  -  24 

A    SIDE-CANAL                    -                    -  -  -  28 

A    QUIET    SPOT                  -                   -  -  -33 

GRAND    canal:    THE    "  SALUTE  "  -  -  37 

LOOKING    EASTWARDS    FROM    THE  CAMPANILE      -  41 

A    BEND    IN    THE    GRAND    CANAL  -  -  48 

ca'    d'    ORO    -                 -                 -  -  -  52 

ca'  capello  -  -  -  -56 

THE    RIALTO    bridge  -  -  -  -  6l 


PUNTA    DELLA    salute  -  -  -  6 


A    "  TRAGHETTO 

xi 


69 


List  of  Illustrations 


PAGE 

76 


ST.    MARK  S    DOVES 

THE    PIAZZETTA              -                   -  -  -  80 

THE    HEART    OF    VENICE                -  -  -  84 

WITHIN  THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE    DUCAL  PALACE  89 

PORTA    DELLA    CARTA-                   -  -  -  93 

THE    BRIDGE    OF    SIGHS                  -  -  -  97 

THE    BRONZE    HORSES                     -  -  -  104 

INTERIOR    OF    ST.    MARK's            -  -  -  108 

INTERIOR    OF    ST.    MARK's           -  -  -  112 

A    SHRINE    IN    ST.    MARK's            -  -  -  11  7 

A    VENETIAN    BACKYARD                -  -  -  121 

AL    FRESCO      -----  125 

A    VENETIAN    CORTILE                     -  -  -  182 

BRIDGE    AND    "  SOTTOPORTICO  "  -  -  136 

CANAL    AND    "  SQUERO  "    OF    S.    TROVASO  -  140 

ENTRANCE    TO    THE    ARSENAL  -  -  -  145 

OSPEDALE    COSMOPOLITANO          -  -  -  149 

"the    SWAN    OF    THE    LAGOON  "  -  -  153 

AT    THE    GIUDECCA       -                   -  -  -  l60 

WAR    AND    PEACE           -                   -  -  -  l64 

xii 


List  of  Illustrations 

PAGE 

QUATTRO    FONT AN E      -                   -                   -                   -  l68 

SUNSET    ON    THE    LAGOON            -                   -                   -  173 

BRONZE    GATES                -                   -                   -                   -  177 

LOGGIA    OF    THE    DOGE's    PALACE                 -                    -  181 

ST.    mark's    on    A    FESTIVAL       -                    -                    -  188 

THE    BRIDGE    OF    ST.    ANTHONV's    DAY   -                    -  192 
TWO    VOTIVE    CHURCHES                -                   -                   -196 

A    GALA    PROCESSION    ON    THE    GRAND    CANAL       -  201 

A    SIDE-CANAL                    ....  205 

A    WELL-HEAD                   ....  209 

CANAL    OF    S.    TROVASO                   -                    -                    -  21 6 

A    BROAD    " FONDAMENTA  "         -                    -                    -  220 

THE    RIALTO  -----  224 

A    SIDE-CANAL                    .                    -                    -                    .  229 

THE    MILK-BOAT               .                    .                    -                    -  233 

A     GONDOLIER                    ...                    -  242 


Xlll 


THE    BRONZK     HORSES    OF    ST.     MARK 


XV 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 


CHAPTER  I 

FIRST  IMPRESSIONS 

TO  be  obliged  to  enter  a  stately  edifice  by 
its  back-door  is  an  unfortunate  circum- 
stance destructive  of  any  just  conception  of  its 
proportions,  grandeur,  and  charm.  Yet  this 
obligation  is  laid,  not  only  on  every  pedestrian 
visitor  who  calls  on  the  dwellers  in  \'enetian 
palaces,  but  on  every  modem  traveller  brought 
by  railway  to  the  City  of  the  Lagoons. 

Its  visitors  of  old  time  were  more  fortunate. 
They  approached  this  "  Citta  nobilissima  e 
singolare''  by  ways  which  enabled  them  to 
taste  its  quality  from  afar.  They  saw  its 
distant  campanili  as  they  sailed  across  the 
Adriatic  from  Trieste  ;  or  they  came,  like  John 
Evelyn  in  1645,  by  Brondolo  and  Chioggia, 
17  B 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

"  over  against  Malamocco,  the  chief  port  and 
ankerage  where  our  EngHsh  merchantmen  He 
that  trade  with  V^enice";  and  here,  entering 
the  lagoon,  they  slipped  into  the  Bacino  di 
S.  Marco,  the  Campanile  beckoning  them  on, 
till  their  progress  was  arrested  by  the  Custom 
House,  which  looks  seaward  from  the  sharp 
point  of  Dorsoduro.  Or,  like  Shakespeare's 
Portia,  they  might  come  from  Padua,  travelling 
by  barge  along  the  Brenta  through  the  level 
green  water-meadows  to  Fusina,  and  there, 
embarking  on  the  "  common  ferry  which  trades 
to  Venice,"  they  approached  the  city  by  the 
broad  Giudecca  Channel.  Or,  again,  if  they 
had  crossed  the  Alps  by  the  Brenner  Pass,  they 
left  their  carriages  and  all  the  toils  and  fatigues 
of  travel  at  Mestre,  and  there  entered  a  gondola, 
the  revivino^  salt  breeze  and  the  masses  of  heaving 
seaweed  proclaiming  the  vicinity  of  the  Adriatic. 
Then  they  rowed  across  the  Lagoon,  slowly 
nearing  the  city,  which  lay  like  a  big  lotus-leaf 
on  its  bosom ;  not  surrounded,  like  other  medieval 
towns,  by  defences  of  masonry,  but  having  these 
shining  expanses  of  water  alike  for  road  and 
rampart.  And  when  the  low  shore  of  the 
i8 


First  Impressions 

mainland  behind  them  had  become  a  mere 
wavering,  neutral-tinted  line,  the  boat  swept 
into  the  Canal  of  C'annareggio,  and  then  past 
the  Church  of  San  Geremia,  into  the  Grand 
Canal,  the  broadest  and  most  stately  street  in 
Europe. 

Yet  what  the  modern  traveller  loses  in 
aesthetic  satisfaction  he  gains  in  sensations  of 
astonishment.  No  previous  preparation,  de- 
scriptive or  photographic,  can  seriously  diminish 
the  delightful  thrill  experienced  by  the  new- 
comer to  Venice  as  he  leaves  the  railway  plat- 
form and  emerges  on  the  station  quay  over- 
looking the  Grand  Canal. 

There,  by  the  broad  flight  of  water-steps, 
the  cabs  of  Venice,  the  hired  gondolas,  are 
waiting  in  a  black  mass  for  the  arrival  of  the 
express  trains.  As  soon  as  the  first  luggage- 
laden  figure  appears  on  the  quay,  the  mass 
becomes  agitated.  The  air  is  rent  with  cries  : 
the  offering,  "  Gondola  !  gondola !"  from  the 
water  ;  from  the  shore  the  imperative,  "  Poppe ! 
poppe  !"'  (Boatman  !)  of  blue-vested  fcicchini^ 
anxious  to  secure  a  good  boat  for  the  signori 
who  have  tipped  them  well.     Or  the  Christian 

21 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

name  of  some  private  gondolier — "  Francesco  !" 
"  Luigi !''  "  Pietro  !"'  or  what  not — is  shouted  ; 
and  a  reassuring  "Eccomi,  Signorina !"  "Pronto, 
Signore  !''  comes  from  some  stalwart  standing 
form,  who  presently,  with  marvellous  dexterity, 
will  manage  to  extricate  his  gondola  from  the 
crowd,  avoid  the  wash  of  a  steamer  making  for 
the  station  pontoon  to  the  left,  and  draw  up  at 
some  spot  on  the  outskirts  of  confusion. 

Many  of  the  best  hotels  now  send  a  steam- 
launch  as  "  station  bus ''  to  meet  expected 
guests.  This  is  an  advantage  to  the  traveller 
who  is  going  for  the  bathing  season  straight 
out  to  the  Lido ;  otherwise  time  seems  dearly 
gained  at  the  expense  of  the  restful  motion  of 
the  old-fashioned  gondola,  one  of  the  most 
characteristic  and  delicious  features  of  life  in 
the  Lagoons.  To  arrive  uncertain  of  one's 
destination — and  without  the  power  to  conceal 
the  fact  beneath  a  mask  of  assumed  decision — 
is  to  be  the  victim  of  the  knot  of  hotel  porters 
who  command  the  station  exit,  chanting  the 
names  of  their  houses,  prepared  to  pounce  Hke 
spiders  on  any  vacillating  fly. 

Happy  is  the  man  who  has  come  to  stay  in 

22 


Topical  Press, 


A    PICTLRESyUE    CORNER. 

Rio  S.  Stin. 


First  Impressions 

Venice  with  some  of  its  residents,  and  is  met 
on  arrival  by  his  host's  private  gondola,  manned 
bv  two  gondoliers.  Happier  still  is  he  if  his 
friends  refrain  from  coming  to  welcome  him  in 
person.  To  feel  oneself  propelled  with  the  easy 
speed  of  the  double-oar,  to  observe  without 
fully  comprehending,  to  yield  oneself  silently 
to  wholly  new  sensations — this  is  the  way  to 
enjoy  to  the  full  the  luxury  of  arrival. 

Travellers  who  have  crossed  the  Alps  often 
come  by  an  express  train  from  Milan,  which 
reaches  Venice  near  midnight ;  those  who  have 
crossed  the  Apennines  often  enter  with  the 
dawn.  Both  hours  are  favourable  to  striking 
first  impressions. 

As  the  night  train  leaves  the  station  at  Mestre 
and  steams  across  the  bridge  built  by  the  Aus- 
trians  to  link  their  conquest  with  the  mainland, 
the  lights  of  Venice  gleam  brightly  in  the  midst 
of  a  plain  of  dark  water ;  and  the  unique  situa- 
tion of  the  City  of  Refuge  is  realized  more 
vividly  than  when  the  eye  is  dazzled  by  sun- 
light and  distracted  by  the  unending  variations 
of  cloud  and  reflection.  Then  when  the  restful 
gondola  is  reached,  and  the  traveller  begins  to 
25 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

move  along  the  waterway,  he  is  penetrated  by 
the  novelty  of  its  silence.  In  the  darkness  he 
strains  his  ears  rather  than  his  eyes,  and  the 
only  sounds  which  meet  them  are  the  rhythmical 
dip  of  the  oar,  the  lapping  of  the  tide  against 
marble  steps,  the  weirdly  melodious  cry  of  the 
gondolier  sent  forth  in  warning  as  he  rounds 
a  corner  or  overtakes  another  boat. 

Residents  in  Venice  know  that  the  stillness 
is  fallacious.  Experience  quickly  teaches  that 
human  voices  echo  through  the  silence  made 
by  the  absence  of  traffic  ;  that  narrow  foot- 
passages  and  waterways  are  funnels  up  which 
sounds  of  steps  or  of  revellers'  songs  ascend  to 
upper  windows ;  that  Italians  seem  able  to 
reduce  the  hours  of  sleep  to  a  minimum ;  that 
when  wine-shops  disgorge  their  cheerful  occu- 
pants vivacious  discussion  will  continue  on  the 
nearest  bridge ;  that  solitary  wayfarers  are  apt 
to  enliven  a  night  tramp  with  reproductions — 
allegro  and  con  hr'io — of  the  popular  operatic 
tune ;  and,  finally,  that  certain  gondoliers  are 
bound  by  the  laws  of  the  Municipio  to  be  on 
duty  all  night  at  the  traghetti  (ferries),  and 
are  determined  that  some  of  the  inhabitants 
26 


//.  C.  White  Co. 


A    SIDE-CANAL,     Ul(»    S.    TROVASO. 


Where  it  debouches  into  the  Grand  Canal,  with  Palazzo  Contarini  degli  Sorigni 
on  the  right. 


First  Impressions 

of  the  surrounding  houses  shall  share  their 
vigil. 

But  the  traveller  is  still  ignorant  of  these 
facts,  though  he  may  discover  some  of  them  all 
too  soon,  when  he  retires  weary  to  his  couch. 
For  the  moment  this  quiet  water  transit  possesses 
him — this  arrival,  so  unlike  the  drive  from  the 
station  in  any  other  city,  seaport,  or  country 
village.  He  plunges  wondering  into  dim  side- 
canals,  scarcely  able  to  discern  the  outline  of 
the  masonry  through  the  shadow  of  which  he 
passes,  all  that  is  mean  and  ugly  hidden  by  the 
darkness,  and  mystery  adding  allurement  to 
beauty  half  revealed. 

Then  he  emerges  again  into  the  moonlight 
space  of  the  Grand  Canal,  with  its  bordering  of 
stately  palaces.  Some  are  shuttered  and  light- 
less,  and  the  gondola  of  the  house,  sparecchiata 
— despoiled  of  all  but  its  frame — heaves  fastened 
to  its  pall — the  tall  posts  before  the  door.  Others 
have  no  gondola,  while  a  single  light  is  burning 
in  the  water-entrance  —  indications  that  the 
owners  are  still  abroad  and  are  expected  home 
anon.  Or,  again,  there  is  a  long  row  of  lighted 
windows  from  which  issue  gusts  of  laughter, 
29 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

merriment,  and  music,  while  below  a  black 
group  of  gondolas  lies  awaiting  the  close  of 
an  evening  reception. 

Then,  if  the  traveller  is  bound  for  one  of  the 
hotels  near  St.  Mark's,  there  will  intervene 
another  short  cut,  another  sudden  plunge  into 
a  side  -  canal,  till  finally  he  emerges  into  a 
great  stretch  of  scintillating,  moon  -  swept 
water,  giving  back  the  lights  of  the  Piazzetta 
and  widening  seaward  to  the  shimmering 
Lagoon. 

But  if  the  traveller  come  when  the  shadows 
are  slipping  downwards  from  the  palaces,  like 
a  discarded  garment  sliding  to  the  feet,  and  the 
expanse  of  Lagoon  and  wide  channel  are  grow- 
ing grey  and  faintly  luminous,  he  will  find  a 
quieter  station,  a  less  confused  embarkation,  and 
a  more  refreshing  breeze  than  at  any  other  hour. 
Then,  too,  he  will  have  glimpses  of  the  city's 
provisioning — invisible  to  later  risers — of  barges 
bearing  milk  from  the  mainland,  of  boats  laden 
with  market-garden  produce,  of  a  bustle,  ac- 
companied by  the  sound  of  many  voices,  about 
the  Rial  to  and  the  Fish  Market.  Then,  too,  if 
the  weather  favour  him,  he  will  see  two  sights 
^o 


First  Impressions 

of  magical  loveliness :  looking  seawards,  the 
dome  of  the  church  of  the  Madonna  della  Salute, 
with  all  its  delicate  barocco  twirls  and  spirals, 
"  a  wondrous  brittle  dome  of  wizardry,"  out- 
lined against  a  sky  whose  pale,  intensifying 
light  is  veiled  in  a  transparent  pearly  haze  ; 
looking  landwards,  the  whole  line  of  the  Alps, 
white-crested  with  a  sprinkling  of  newly-fallen 
snow,  or  gleaming  in  silver  and  pale  purple 
through  the  tremulous  white  of  a  summer  dawn. 
The  sunset  may  show  them  again,  revealing 
more  clearly  to  the  west  the  mountains  above 
Vicenza;  but  never  do  they  look  so  ethereal, 
so  dream-like,  as  in  the  pure  light  of  early 
morning. 

The  medal,  like  every  other  made  of  earthly 
metal,  has  its  reverse.  After  the  delicious  row 
from  the  station  comes  the  reckoning — often  a 
disagreeable  awakening  from  a  pleasant  dream. 
The  English  or  American  visitor  is  nowadays 
regarded  as  the  rightful  prey  of  the  gondolier, 
whom  he  has  spoilt  by  misplaced  generosity, 
and  whom  he  sometimes  irritates  by  unjust 
suspicion.  The  course  from  the  station  to 
the  fashionable  hotels  is  a  long  one,  and  the 
31 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

foreigner's  luggage  is  often  weighty.  Some- 
times the  gondolier  is  outrageous  in  his  demands ; 
sometimes  the  Jbrestieri  are  unreasonable  in  their 
withholdings.  When  a  wrangle  ensues  the  latter 
are  at  a  disadvantage,  for  even  should  they 
understand  and  speak  Italian,  they  are  likely 
to  be  worsted  when  the  excited  Venetian  slips 
into  his  own  dialect.  The  writer  remembers 
how,  not  long  ago,  two  young  English  ladies, 
going  to  a  pension  not  on  a  canal,  besought 
the  gondolier  to  carry  their  trunks  from  the 
landing-place  to  the  door  of  their  lodging. 
The  man  refused  to  do  so  unless  he  were  paid 
a  preposterous  extra  fee.  It  was  late,  and  the 
frightened  girls  were  about  to  capitulate,  when 
two  English  gentlemen  came  to  the  traghetto. 
Overhearing  the  altercation,  they  dismissed 
the  gondolier  with  a  threat  of  report  to 
the  vigili  (police),  and  themselves  carried 
their  compatriots'  trunks  to  the  pension 
entrance. 

Again,  if  a  moonlight  night  on  the  Lagoons 

holds  a  charm  unknown  to  the  mainland  ;  if  the 

dawn  seems  more  magical,  the  midday  sunshine 

more  effulgent— it  cannot  be  denied  that  a  wet 

32 


First  Impressions 

day  is  drearier  and  more  uncomfortable  in  \'enice 
than  in  any  other  European  city.  There  are 
days  when  we  would  thankfully  exchange  the 
steamer  for  a  rattling  bus,  and  the  noiseless 
gondola  for  a  snorting  taxi-cab  ;  when  all  traffic 
is  dislocated  by  fog  or  wind  ;  when  even  the 
shelter  of  d^  felze — the  hearse-like  hood  of  the 
gondola — is  denied  to  us,  and  it  is  an  adventure 
to  cross  the  Grand  Canal  near  its  mouth,  and 
impossible  to  steer  across  the  channel  of  the 
Giudecca.  In  such  weather  an  arrival  at  night 
is  no  delicious  dream,  but  a  veritable  night- 
mare. No  onondolas  are  waitino^  at  the  station 
stairs,  and  the  traveller  stands  dripping  and 
impatient,  while  a  shivering  facchino  shouts 
'•  Poppe  !''  till  he  is  hoarse. 

If  the  wind  is  strong  and  gusty,  it  may  be 
necessary  to  employ  a  second  rower — secondo 
rerno — to  a\  oid  the  wider  canals  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, and  to  study  carefully  both  wind  and 
tide.  In  very  wild  weather  it  is  safer  to  leave 
one's  heavy  luggage  at  the  station,  and  go  on 
board  one  of  the  steamers — vajjoretti — which 
ply  from  early  dawn  to  midnight  up  and  down 
the  Grand  Canal,  calling  at  various  points. 
33 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

Very  occasionally  even  this  means  of  locomo- 
tion fails  us  ;  in  a  thick  sea-fog  there  is  nothing 
for  it  but  to  fall  back  on  Shanks'  Mare,  or,  as 
the  Italians  say  more  picturesquely,  the  "  Cavallo 
di  S.  Francesco/' 


36 


■^•V.«t    ^11    '',«    j 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  GRAND  CANAL 

IF  \  enice  is  unique  as  a  city,  surely  there  is. 
nothing  even  in  \^enice  more  interesting  and 
beautiful  than  the  Grand  Canal — "  II  Canalazzo,"* 
as  the  natives  call  it.  This  is  the  Ringstrasse, 
the  Unter  den  Linden  of  Venice  ;  its  Picca- 
dilly and  Regent  Circus,  and  I  know  not  what 
else,  in  one. 

The  beautiful  sweep  of  its  curves,  combined 
with  the  historic  interest  and  dignity  of  its 
buildings,  recalls,  perhaps  more  than  anything 
else,  the  immortal  "  High  "  at  Oxford.  But  the 
comparison  is,  after  all,  but  a  poor  one.  If  by 
an  inconceivable  misfortune  the  Grand  Canal 
should  at  some  future  date  be  called  to  suffer 
as  some  of  its  humbler  colleagues  suffered  under 
the  Austrian  regime,  and  be  drained  and  filled 
up  with  rubble  and  solid  paving  and  converted 
into  a  street — a  '*  Rio  Terra,"  as  the  Venetians 
39 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

would  say — it  would  still  be  far  and  away  the 
most  glorious  street  in  Europe. 

As  it  is,  the  quaint  and  variegated  beauty  of 
its  palaces,  w^here  the  twelfth,  the  fourteenth, 
and  the  eighteenth  century  jostle  one  another 
in  friendly  and  harmonious  juxtaposition,  gains 
indefinitely  from  the  proximity  of  the  water. 
Here,  in  rare  moments  of  stillness,  the  whole 
architectural  line  is  reflected  ;  while  the  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  disturbance  caused  by  light 
breeeze  or  passing  gondola  have  each  its 
sequence  of  fantastically  broken  reflection  to 
enhance  the  glow  of  the  picture. 

Even  the  wash  of  the  penny  steamer — the 
*'  Tram,"'  as  the  natives  call  it,  by  a  quaint 
metaphor — or  of  the  motor  -  launch  (whose 
*'  Toot !  toot  r^  does  its  best  to  assimilate  the 
noise  of  Venetian  traflic  to  that  of  other  towns) 
cannot  entirely  destroy  the  effect,  on  a  bright 
sunny  day.  The  general  result  upon  the  e3'e  is 
that  of  a  dark  green  palette  on  which  the 
colours  of  the  architectural  harmony  above  are 
fantastically  mixed.  When  a  steamer  or  motor- 
launch  passes,  the  mixture  is  at  its  weirdest  .  .  . 
and  you  see  more  of  the  palette  ! 
40 


11* 


fl 


The   Grand  Canal 

From  the  steps  of  the  railway-station  quay 
one  sees  the  Canalazzo  winding  to  the  rijrht 
hand  and  to  the  left.  If  we  follow  it  to 
the  right  we  soon  reach  its  western  end,  by 
turning  sharp  to  the  right  again  past  the 
purlieus  of  the  goods  station,  and  under  a  bridge, 
and  so  into  the  north-western  lagoon  near  the 
line  of  the  railway  viaduct  which  stretches  in  an 
apparently  endless  series  of  arches  towards  the 
mainland.  The  left  bank  of  the  Grand  Canal, 
as  we  move  in  this  direction,  is  flanked  bv 
buildings  quaintly  picturesque,  but  for  the  most 
part  mean  and  squalid,  relieved  by  the  green 
patch  of  the  Papadopoli  Garden.  Adjoining 
this  is  a  humble  edifice  interesting  to  English- 
men as  the  British  Sailors'  Institute.  The  right 
bank  is  monopolized  by  the  offices,  sheds,  and 
^varehouses  pertaining  to  the  railway  terminus. 

If,  however,  we  would  see  the  glories  of  the 
Canalazzo,  we  must  move  eastward,  turning  to 
the  left  as  we  leave  the  station  steps,  under  the 
useful  -but  hideous  iron  bridge.  It  is  rather 
north  of  east  that  we  shall  move  at  first,  then 
due  east,  then  south  beneath  the  famous  Rialto 
Bridge,  then  south  with  a  touch  of  west  for  a 
43 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

longish  spell,  till  by  the  great  Foscari  Palace 
we  sweep  round  to  the  south-east  and  finally, 
east,  vvith  the  slightest  deflection  northwards 
past  the  long  line  of  hotels,  to  the  Piazzetta,  the 
Doge's  Palace,  and  the  sunny  Riva  degli  Schia- 
vona.  "  II  Canalazzo  Serpenteggia,''  the  canal 
behaves  like  a  twisted  serpent,  or  a  reversed 
letter  "  S.''  This  characteristic  adds  greatly  to 
its  beauty,  for  it  modulates  at  different  points 
the  lines  and  the  direction  of  light  and  shade  ; 
but  it  muddles  the  stranger  dreadfully  as  to  the 
points  of  the  compass,  and  distorts  most  incon- 
veniently his  impression  of  the  topography  of 
the  city.  It  also  makes  the  "  housing  problem '' 
very  confusing  for  the  ambitious  Anglo-Saxon 
who  wishes  to  establish  himself  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  Grand  Canal. 

Following  the  Canal  down  from  the  station 
towards  the  Rialto,  the  buildings  on  which  the 
eye  rests  to  the  right  are,  for  the  first  reach, 
picturesque  rather  than  important.  The  mot- 
ley line  includes  not  a  little  architecture  that 
would  well  repay  attention,  but  nothing  that 
forces  itself  upon  our  notice,  except  the  classical 
facade  and  disproportionate  green  dome  of  the 
44 


The  Grand  Canal 

eighteenth-century  church  of  S.  Simeone  Piccolo, 
till  we  reach  the  fine  Byzantine  twelfth-century 
building  which  is  now  the  civic  museum — a 
museum,  by  the  way,  worth  more  attention 
than  it  usually  receives  from  English  visitors. 

Meanwhile  the  left-hand  side  of  the  Canal 
has  been  full  of  interest.  Longhena's  over- 
ornate  church  of  the  Scalzi  (Barefoot  Friars), 
adjoining  the  station,  is  quickly  followed  by  the 
beautifully  heterogeneous  group  of  S.  Geremia, 
its  lofty  thirteenth-century  campanile,  with 
a  modern  top,  standing  sentry  over  an 
eighteenth-century  church,  and  flanked  by  the 
handsome  seventeenth-century  Labbia  Palace. 

This  group,  which  marks  the  entrance  to  the 
Canare^f^io  —  the  old  outlet  towards  IMestre 
and  the  mainland  ere  the  railway  viaduct  was 
built  —  is  typical  of  much  that  we  shall  see. 
Typical  is  the  dedication  of  the  church  :  the 
Venetians  had  a  fondness*  for  Old  Testament 
saints — "  St.  Jeremiah "'  here  has  for  his  col- 
leagues "  St.  Job  "  (San  Giobbe),  near  by,  and 
"  St.  Moses  ''  (San  Moise)  and  "  St.  Samuel ""  in 

*  Due,  it  was  said,  to  their  intercourse  with  the 
East. 

45  C 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

other  parts  of  the  town.  Typical  is  the  mix- 
ture of  the  stately  and  the  banal  in  the  cluster 
of  buildings.  Typical,  above  all,  is  the  har- 
monious effect  produced  through  the  blending 
of  many  tints  and  styles  by  the  magic  of  the 
Venetian  atmosphere. 

It  would  be  easy  to  spend  many  pages  in  a 
detailed  description  of  the  different  palaces 
which  flank  the  Grand  Canal  on  either  hand — 
massive  Renaissance  structures  of  the  fifteenth, 
sixteenth,  and  seventeenth  centuries.  Prominent 
among  these  are  the  great  Vendramin-Calergi 
(1481),  with  its  refreshing  green  setting  of 
garden  on  either  side,  and  its  noble  motto, 
"  Nox  NOBIS  domine"  (Ps.  cxv.  1);  the  Pesaro 
(1679)  ;  the  Corner  della  Regina,  recalling  the 
memory  of  the  ill-fated  Queen  Caterina  Cor- 
naro,  though  dating  in  its  present  form  from 
1724 ;  and  after  the  Rial  to  Bridge  the  Manin 
(sixteenth  century)  —  home  of  Venice's  last 
Doge  —  now  Banca  d'  Italia ;  the  Grimani 
(sixteenth  century),  now  Court  of  Appeal ;  the 
Papadopoli  (also  sixteenth  century),  like  the 
Manin,  attributed  to  Sansovino;  the  Rezzo- 
nico,  in  which    the   poet   Browning   breathed 

46 


The  Grand  Canal 

his  last ;  the  somewhat  less  imposing  row  of 
Mocenigo  palaces,  in  one  of  which  Byron 
lodged  ;  and  the  Corner  del  la  Ca'  Grande,  now- 
official  residence  of  the  Prefect.  Or,  again,  we 
might  make  a  study  of  the  Gothic  structures 
of  the  fourteenth  and  early  fifteenth  centuries. 
These  range  from  the  very  elaborate  Ca'  d'  Oro 
and  the  magnificent  Ducal  Palace ;  the  impos- 
ing mass  of  the  Pisani,  Foscari,  and  Giustiniani 
Palaces ;  the  fine  Cavalli  and  its  neighbour  the 
Barbaro,  facing  the  Accademia,  to  the  more 
modest  but  extremely  graceful  buildings  with 
pointed  or  ogee  windows  that  are  always 
appearing  as  we  pass  up  and  down  the  Grand 
Canal.  Or,  once  more,  we  might  devote  our 
attention  to  the  precious  relics  of  a  still  earlier 
period,  like  the  Fondaco  dei  Turchi,  already 
mentioned,  and  the  Dona'  and  Saibante  to  right 
and  left  of  the  Traghetto  of  the  Madonetta, 
all  three  of  which  date  from  the  twelfth  century. 
Nor  will  the  English  visitor  fail  to  mark  with 
interest  the  sunny  and  flower-bedecked  front  of 
Ca"  Capello,  the  home  of  the  fine  collection  of 
pictures  made  by  the  late  Sir  Henry  Layard. 
The  churches,  too,  which  flank  the  Canalazzo, 
49 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

though  not  numerous  or  imposing,  have  their 
interest.  Besides  those  already  spoken  of  near 
the  station,  we  pass  one  on  either  hand  before 
reaching  the  Rialto,  and  each  of  these,  by  its 
name,  typifies  the  gymnastic  feats  of  which 
the  Venetian  dialect  is  capable.  That  of 
S.  Eustacchio  (St.  Eustace),  on  the  right,  has 
dwindled  into  S.  "  Stae  " ;  while  the  temple  on 
the  left,  dedicated  to  SS.  Ermagora  e  Fortunato 
(Hermagoras  and  Fortunatus)  has  transformed 
itself  compactly  in  dialect  into  the  single  name 
of  "  S.  Marcuola'' !  No  other  churches  actually 
adjoin  the  Grand  Canal  till,  after  the  last  bend, 
in  sight  of  the  iron  bridge  of  the  Accademia, 
we  pass  S.  Sam uele,  with  its  charming  thirteenth- 
century  belfry,  on  the  left,  followed  shortly  by 
S.  Vidal  (St.  Vitalis)  at  the  bridge  itself.  But 
almost  directly  opposite  S.  Samuele,  we  may 
obtain  a  peep  down  a  side-canal,  to  the  right, 
of  one  of  the  noblest  towers  in  Venice,  the 
campanile  of  S.  Barnaba.  Opposite  S.  Vidal, 
at  the  other  extremity  of  the  iron  bridge, 
stands  what  remains  of  the  fourteenth-century 
church  of  the  Carita,  worked  into  a  most  in- 
artistic group  by  modern  Italian  taste,  to  form 
50 


\  ■ 


....v?«ef??OS?55^?jTT*i 


t'O  Cr/-rri::ht 


CA     n      ORO. 


The  most  elaborate  of  Venetian  palaces,  about  the  same  dale  as 
Palazzo  Ducale. 


The  Grand  Canal 

the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts.  Henceforth  the 
ecclesiastical  interest  passes  to  the  right-hand 
side  of  the  water,  till  we  come  to  the  Piazzetta, 
with  its  glimpse  of  St.  Mark's.  First  we  see  the 
little  campo,  or  scjuare,  of  S.  Vio  (St.  Vitus), 
with  its  lovely  Byzantine  shrine — "  surely  the 
tiniest  church  in  Venice,"'  says  Mr.  Horatio 
Brown,  "  and  perhaps  the  oldest,  for  it  dates 
from  the  year  917."'  On  one  side  of  this 
campo  stands  the  modern  Anglican  Chapel  of 
St.  George,  a  transformed  warehouse  which  has 
no  external  features  to  attract  attention  to 
itself,  but  is  well  worth  a  visit  for  the  re- 
strained and  modest  dignity  of  its  interior. 
By  a  happy  combination  of  good  fortune  and 
good  taste,  a  result  has  been  obtained  which 
suggests  at  once  an  English  college  chapel,  and 
the  chapel  of  an  old  \'enetian  .s-aiola,  or 
guild.  Further  down,  still  on  the  right-hand 
side,  is  the  stately  brown  Gothic  church  of 
S.  Gregorio,  behind  the  quaint  quadrangle  of 
the  Abbazia,  and  adjacent  to  Longhena's  seven- 
teenth-century temple  of  Our  Lady  of  Health, 
Sta.  Maria  della  Salute,  one  of  \'enice's  two 
votive  Plague  Churches.  This  remarkable 
53 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

group,  which  harmonizes  so  wonderfully  with 
its  surroundings — the  Patriarchal  Seminary  and 
the  Marine  Custom  House  on  the  Punta  della 
Salute  —  gives  the  Grand  Canal  its  finishing 
touch.  It  forms  such  a  wholly  admirable 
feature  of  the  landscape  as  one  looks  westward 
from  the  Basin  of  St.  Mark — the  broad  sheet 
of  water  into  which  the  Canalazzo  debouches, 
or  eastward  from  the  direction  of  the  iron 
bridge — that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  realize 
that  Venice  lived — and  was  admired — for  so 
many  centuries  without  it. 

The  total  effect  of  this  mixture  of  styles 
and  scales  of  architecture,  ecclesiastical  and 
domestic,  is  indescribably  interesting  and  de- 
lightful. The  variation  of  colour  gives  an 
added  charm,  and  the  graceful  curves  of  the 
canal  itself,  with  the  fine  outline  of  the  Rialto 
Bridge  at  its  central  point,  completes  the 
picture.  On  a  bright  spring  day  when  private 
gondolas  abound,  with  their  graceful  awnings 
and  gaily-dressed  gondoliers,  and  every  note  of 
colour  is  enforced  by  its  reflection  in  the  glitter- 
ing green  waters,  the  Grand  Canal  is  indeed  a 
good  thing  to  look  upon.  But  it  is  interesting 
54 


a^SicrZ^^ 


■/r 


The  Grand  Canal 

at  all  times  of  day,  from  early  morning  till  late 
at  night ;  and  in  all  weathers,  except  when  a 
sea-fog  blots  out  the  view  of  it. 

Pietro  Aretino,  the  rascally  journalist  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  has  left  us  a  record  of  his 
impressions  of  the  Grand  Canal  as  seen  from  a 
palace  window  near  the  Rial  to  Bridge,  and  his 
picture  would  almost  pass  muster  to-day  but 
for  the  disturbing  presence  of  the  "  tram " 
steamers,  and  the  manifold  results  of  their 
fussy,  bustling  movements. 

"  This,''  he  says,  "  is  the  Patriarch  of  all 
other  canals,  even  as  Venice  is  the  chief  of  all 
other  cities.  I  enjoy,''  he  goes  on,  "  the  fairest 
and  most  agreeable  view  in  the  whole  world. 
When  I  go  to  my  window,  I  see  hundreds  of 
people  and  as  many  gondolas  at  market-time. 
Facing  me  are  the  meat  and  fish  markets,  the 
Campo  del  Mancino,  the  Bridge  and  Fondaco 
of  the  Germans ;  over  against  these  the  Rialto, 
trodden  bv  the  feet  of  busy  wayfarers." 
Weighing  the  counter-attractions  of  an  in- 
vitation to  enjoy  the  sport  and  refreshment 
offered  by  the  mainland  in  autumn,  he  con- 
tinues :  "  The  boats  I  see  from  my  window  are 
57 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

laden  with  grapes,  the  ships  with  game ;  there 
are  gardens  in  the  streets  themselves.  AVhy 
should  I  want  to  look  upon  streams  and 
meadows  ?"  Here  one  would  be  inclined  to  pick 
a  quarrel  with  the  Aretine.  He  has  disclosed 
the  weakest  point  of  Venice  from  the  aesthetic 
point  of  view — its  want  of  response  to  the  call 
of  spring  and  autumn — but  of  that  more  anon. 

Pietro  proceeds  to  describe  the  delight  of 
watching  in  the  very  early  hours  of  the  morning 
a  great  barca  laden  with  flowers  and  fruit, 
distributing  its  burden  to  lesser  boats  grouped 
round  it ;  and  the  sights  with  which  later  hours 
regale  him,  of  gondolas  filled  with  fair  dames 
in  silks  and  jewels,  the  shouting  gondoliers  gay 
in  scarlet  hose, 

Pietro  Aretino  was  certainly  well  placed. 
There  can  be  no  dispute  that  one  of  the  points 
of  chiefest  interest  in  this  "Patriarch"  of 
Venetian  waterways  is  the  Rialto,  with  its  con- 
stant movement  and  cheerful  bustle,  and  with 
the  effective  colour-scheme  furnished  by  the 
fruit  and  vegetable  market, where  "the  oranges,*" 
as  Aretino  says,  "  spread  their  gold  at  the  feet 
of  the  Camerlenghi  Palace."' 

58 


The  Grand   Canal 

Other  points  have  their  special  days  or  seasons 
of  interest ;  once  a  year,  the  reach  where  the 
races  are  rowed  in  the  summer  regatta — when 
the  Canal  is,  for  the  nonce,  as  solid-looking  as 
the  Thames  at  Henley,  and,  if  possible,  more 
motley  in  its  colouring ;  the  Bacino  di  S. 
Marco  on  all  occasions  which  can  be  made 
excuse  for  a  festa ;  the  station  steps  at  one 
end,  and  those  of  the  Palazzo  Reale  at  the 
other,  when  a  crowned  head  shows  itself  in 
Venice. 

On  warm  nights  during  the  season,  the  Basin 
of  St.  Mark,  and  the  mouth  of  the  canal  in 
front  of  the  hotels,  is  gay  with  light  and  sing- 
ing. The  barques  of  the  singers,  conspicuous 
by  their  display  of  Chinese  lanterns,  are  sur- 
rounded by  groups  of  dusky  gondolas  with  one 
twinkling  light  apiece;  and  on  really  great 
occasions  the  scene  is  enlivened  by  the  burning 
of  red  and  green  Bengal  lights  at  the  Punta 
della  Salute  and  other  points  of  vantage,  bands 
play  on  the  Piazzetta  or  the  Riva,  and  a  large 
fairy -like  structure,  called  "  Galleggiante,^ 
decked  out  with  scores  of  coloured  lamps,  forms 
a  centre  for  the  whole  group  upon  the  water. 
59 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

Fireworks,  whose  every  scintillation  is  doubled 
by  reflection,  give  the  final  touch  of  brilliancy 
to  the  pageant. 

One  day  in  the  year  the  interest  of  the  Grand 
Canal  is  concentrated  on  a  point  far  away  from 
S.  Marco.  We  must  return  to  a  spot  which 
we  marked  as  interesting  in  our  hasty  survey — 
the  point  where  the  ancient  Fondaco  dei  Turchi 
and  the  "  Non  Nobis  "  Palace  face  one  another 
from  opposite  sides  of  the  water. 

To  listen  to  an  excellent  Wagner  concert, 
seated,  as  in  an  opera-box,  under  the  felze 
and  on  the  comfortable  cushions  of  a  gondola, 
gently  rocked  by  the  movement  of  the  tide,  is 
a  singularly  pleasant  way  of  spending  a  Feb- 
ruary afternoon,  and  one  which  maybe  enjoyed 
annually  by  the  inhabitants  of  Venice.  On 
February  13,  the  anniversary  of  Richard  Wag- 
ner's death,  the  well-trained  and  admirably 
conducted  Municipal  Band  gives  a  selection  of 
the  great  composer's  works,  not  in  the  Piazza, 
the  usual  place  of  its  performances,  but  beneath 
the  portico  of  the  Museo  Civico,  one  of  the 
most  glorious  palaces  on  the  Grand  Canal. 
This  palace  dates  (as  we  have  seen)  from  the 
60 


H    j; 


>r.       -    p 


.'ihU^^' 


-liv^p- 


*Jft^-..;fr' 


m 


The   Grand  Canal 

ninth  centurv,  and  is  a  magnificent  example  of 
the  Italian-Byzantine  style.  In  1621  it  was 
purchased  by  the  Venetian  Republic  from  the 
House  of  Este,  and  converted  into  a  warehouse 
and  place  of  business  for  Turkish  merchants, 
who  paid  rent  for  it.  Henceforth  it  was  known 
as  the  "  Fondaco  dei  Turchi.'"  In  the  middle 
of  the  nineteenth  century  it  was  thoroughly 
restored,  and  arranged  for  its  present  use  as  a 
Municipal  Museum.  The  Vendramin  Palace 
opposite  was  erected  for  the  great  Venetian 
family  of  Loredan  by  one  of  the  Lombard!. 

Few  palaces  in  the  city  have  changed  hands 
by  sale  so  frequently.  The  last  sellers  were  the 
Vendramini,  whose  name  still  clings  to  it,  and 
the  last  purchaser  the  Duchess  de  Berri,  mother 
of  Henry  V.,  Comte  de  Chambord,  from  whom 
it  came  by  inheritance  to  the  present  owners. 

Built  of  grev  Istrian  stone,  with  pillars  of 
marble,  medallions  of  porphyry,  spacious  mul- 
lioned  windows,  and  a  pleasant  garden  over- 
looking the  Canal,  it  unites  the  strength  of  a 
fortress,  the  dignity  of  a  Renaissance  dwelling- 
house,  and  the  comfort  and  light  demanded 
by  modern  luxury.     It   was  in  the  mczzanlno 

63 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

of  this  palace — the  low  story  between  the 
ground  -  floor  and  the  piano  nohile  —  that 
Richard  Wagner  died  some  eight  and  twenty 
years  ago ;  and  the  strains  of  his  music  which 
float  across  the  canal  and  rise  to  the  apartment 
which  he  used  to  love,  are  the  serenade  of  the 
living  to  a  great  Shade. 

The  noble  building  of  which  we  have  just 
been  speaking  may  well  form  the  text  of  a 
short  digression  upon  the  normal  construction 
of  a  Venetian  palace.  For  the  splendid  homes 
of  the  merchant-princes  of  the  Republic  in 
which,  to  the  lasting  benefit  of  posterity,  they 
did  not  shrink  from  sinking  the  bulk  of  their 
capital,  are  nearly  all  of  them  constructed  on  a 
single  model — the  model  (with  one  modifica- 
tion) of  the  native  country  house.  In  one 
essential  point  the  Venetian  building  differs 
from  that  of  the  mainland — in  the  nature,  that 
is,  of  its  foundations.  Venice  stands  upon 
myriads  of  wooden  piles  driven  deeply  and 
firmly  into  the  mud  of  the  banks  on  which  its 
original  inhabitants  took  refuge  from  the  un- 
speakable horrors  of  barbarian  invasion.  On 
these  piles,  driven  home  to  the  accompaniment 

64 


^^Ma 


The  Grand  Canal 

of  weird  traditional  songs  (as  may  still  be  heard 
and  witnessed  occasionally  by  the  lucky  visitor), 
immensely  heavy  blocks  of  stone  are  laid,  and 
upon  them  is  built  up  the  extremely  solid  and 
massive  structure  of  the  Venetian  palace.  The 
building  is  in  four,  five,  or  six  stones,  each  of 
which  is  divided  by  thick  party  walls  into  three 
long  sections  running  from  front  to  back.  The 
central  section  in  each  story  has  no  lateral 
partitions,  but  forms  a  sort  of  lighting  and 
ventilating  shaft,  having  large  windows  at  either 
end.  The  two  side-sections  are  divided  into  a 
number  of  smaller  parts — chambers,  offices,  etc. 
— to  which  access  is  gained  by  doors  opening 
into  the  central  section — the  sala,  or  hall — 
or  else  (in  the  case  of  offices  or  back  premises) 
directly  from  the  staircase.  Each  floor  is  very 
solidly  constructed  of  concrete  (terrazza)  laid 
on  strong  wooden  beams  placed  the  short  way 
across  from  wall  to  wall,  one  close  upon  another. 
In  some  of  the  palaces  these  ceiling  beams, 
elaborately  painted  and  gilded,  form  a  con- 
spicuous adornment.  The  lowest  floor,  next 
the  water,  is,  generally  speaking,  quite  unin- 
habitable by  reason  of  the  damp,  and  is  used 

67 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

only  for  storage  of  the  gondola  and  its  appur- 
tenances. It  serves,  however,  of  necessity,  as 
the  entrance  to  the  house,  approached  at  the 
front  end  by  gondola,  and  from  the  back  on 
foot,  the  back-door  opening  upon  a  small  court- 
yard, or,  more  often,  directly  upon  one  of  those 
narrow  and  crooked  alleys — calli^  the  Vene- 
tians call  them — w^hich  the  pedestrian  in  Venice 
is  forced  to  traverse.  "  The  entrance  on  the 
land  side,""  says  Pietro  Aretino,  "  is  in  this 
habitation  dark  and  tortuous,  and  the  staircase 
is  bad.'"*  As  to  the  approach  on  foot,  his  words 
would  be  true  of  almost  any  Venetian  palace, 
even  the  grandest ;  the  Vendramin*  being  one 
of  the  very  few  exceptions  in  which  the  land 
entrance  attains  even  a  tolerable  standard  of 
decency  and  seemliness.  Yet  the  fact  remains 
— little  suspected  by  the  average  visitor — that 
practically  every  house  in  Venice  can  be  ap- 
proached on  foot. 

The  story  next  above  the  ground-floor  in  a 

Venetian    palace    is   called,   as  we   have   said, 

the    mezzanino,    or   mezzan'in ;    it    is    not    so 

lofty  as   those   above   it,  and  where   a   single 

*  The  Rezzonico  is  another. 

68 


vpniti  i'l 


A     ••   THAf.llDl  TO. 


Showing  the  wooden  steps  and  shelter,  and  the  gondolas  moored  to  their 
"  crooked  posts." 


The  Grand  Canal 

family  still  occupies  the  entire  palace,  it  forms 
a  convenient  refuge  for  the  winter  months 
(winters  are  cold  in  Venice,  though  for  the 
most  part  sunny),  being  more  easily  warmed 
than  the  spacious  piano  noh'ile.  In  the 
mczzanin  the  merchant-prince  transacted  such 
business  as  could  be  done  at  home ;  and  an 
office  in  Venice  is  to  this  day  styled  a  mezza. 
The  p'mjio  iiobile,  or  reception -floor,  is  an 
apartment  of  great  dignity  and  beauty  in  a 
typical  palazzo.  The  long  and  finely-pro- 
portioned sala  has  frequently  a  picturesque 
balcony  on  the  water-front,  to  which  access  is 
gained  through  an  arcade  formed  by  a  group  of 
pointed,  ogee,  or  round-headed  windows.  The 
windows  or  openings  at  either  end  of  the  sala 
were  in  former  days  unglazed,  leaving  the  hall 
open  to  all  weathers — a  veritable  ventilating 
shaft,  as  we  have  said,  for  the  whole  house ;  but 
in  these  days  of  luxury  and  softness  the  win- 
dows are  all  glazed ;  and  the  hall  where  the 
ancient  Venetian  used  to  sit,  if  he  sat  there  at 
all,  in  furs  and  hat,  has  degenerated  into  a 
modem  drawing-room.  It  is  only  fair  to  add 
that  it  makes  one  of  the  finest  and  most 
71 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

dignified  drawincp-rooms  conceivable.  And  the 
views  from  its  front  windows — especially  if  the 
palace  be  on  the  Grand  Canal — are  indescrib- 
ably fascinating.  Not  seldom  there  are  two 
"  noble ''  floors,  in  one  of  which  the  eldest 
married  child  would,  in  old  days,  have  been 
ensconced  :  to-day  such  an  apartment  is  con- 
sidered a  valuable  financial  asset,  and  is  in  most 
cases  let  to  a  separate  family — as  is  often  done, 
also,  with  the  mezzanin^  and  not  seldom  with 
the  uppermost  story  of  all.  This  ultimo 
piano,  devoted  in  former  days  to  the  servants 
and  retainers  of  the  house,  is  usually  of  about 
the  same  proportions  as  the  jnezzanin,  but  has 
the  advantage  of  much  more  sunlight  and  a 
purer  and  drier  air  ;  it  is  greatly  to  be  recom- 
mended to  those  who  would  find  no  difficulty  in 
ascending,  two  or  three  times  a  day,  three  or 
four  score  of  hard,  and  sometimes  steep,  stone 
stairs. 

One  notable  advantage  the  Venetian  palace 
derives  from  the  peculiarity  of  its  foundations  : 
massive  and  heavy  as  is  its  structure,  it  is  one 
of  the  safest  habitations  in  the  world  in  time  of 
earthquake.  The  foundation  is  elastic,  and 
72 


The  Grand  Canal 

consequently  the  whole  building  can  oscillate 
securely  in  one  piece. 

Before  we  leave  the  Canalazzo  there  is  one 
more  point  that  demands  our  attention — the 
ti'aghctto. 

There  are,  in  all,  eleven  of  these  traghettiy 
or  public  ferries,  on  the  Grand  Canal,  and 
they  foini,  historically  as  well  as  aesthetically, 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  features  of  that 
noble  waterway. 

The  group  of  boats  lying  at  the  foot  of  a 
quaint  collection  of  wooden  water-steps,  amid 
a  crowd  of  crooked  wooden  posts — only  one 
degree  less  crooked  than  their  own  reflections 
in  the  green  water ;  in  the  background  a  more 
or  less  animated  cluster  of  stalwart  figures 
centred  round  a  wooden  shelter,  enlivened 
sometimes  by  a  tint  of  growing  green — vine, 
or  other  creeper — and  furnished  with  a  little 
shrine  of  the  patron  saint  of  the  traghetto, 
adds  an  extra  touch  of  beauty  even  to  the 
Canalazzo. 

Every    traghetto,    moreover,    has     its    own 
individuality.     True,   at   every  ferry  you   pay 
the   same    fare-— a    penny   {palanca)    by  night, 
73  D 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

and  half  that  sum  {mezza-palanca  or  cinque 
schei)  by  day,  laying  your  obol  on  the 
gunwale  of  the  boat,  like  one  of  Charon's 
ghostly  passengers.  At  every  ferry  you  may 
have  similar  experiences,  and  overhear  similar 
conversations.  But  the  subtle  difference  re- 
mains ;  and  it  carries  us  back  by  suggestion  to 
the  days,  not  so  very  long  ago,  when  each 
traghetto  was  a  close  corporation,  with  its  own 
guild-chapel  and  religious  ceremonies,  with  its 
jealously-guarded  rights  and  customs — a  sort 
of  benefit  club,  with  a  monopoly  of  the  gains 
accruing  from  the  proceeds  of  the  ferrying 
within  a  certain  area.  In  course  of  time,  even 
during  the  days  of  the  Republic,  the  gondoliers 
of  the  traghetti  forfeited  one  by  one  their 
most  cherished  privileges — forfeited  them  by 
their  own  short-sighted  and  insensate  behaviour 
— till  now  the  last  relic  of  real  independence 
has  left  them  ;  they  are  simply  servants  of  the 
Municipality,  to  which  they  are  responsible  for 
the  efficiency  and  continuity  of  the  ferry  service, 
by  day  and  by  night.  But  their  officers — an 
annually  elected  Gastaldo  at  the  head  and 
fom'  Bancali  to  support  him — still  bear  the 
74 


f— ^"I^^Vfth:^'.- 


^'"^%^,. 


ST.    3IARK  S    nOVES. 


Feeding  the  pigeons  in  the  Piazza.     The  bronze  base  of  one  of  the 
flagstafFs  is  shown. 


The  Grand  Canal 

same  names  which  Mr.  Horatio  Brown  has 
found  in  the  old  charters  of  the  traghetto 
guilds  or  scuole,  dating  in  some  cases  from 
the  fourteenth  century.  The  traghetto^  even 
in  these  degenerate  days,  when  one  of  its  proud 
members  may  be  handed  over  for  insolence  or 
neglect  of  duty  to  the  police  by  any  irate 
foreigner  or  fellow-citizen,  has  still  its  elaborate 
rules  of  rotation  and  precedence,  and,  no  doubt, 
its  jealously-guarded  customs  and  traditions. 


77 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  HEART  OF  VENICE 

"  I  never  during  three  years  passed  through  it  in  my 
daily  walks  without  feelings  as  freshly  as  at  first,  the 
greatness  of  its  beauty." 

THUS  wrote  Howells  of  the  Piazza  of 
S.  Marco ;  and  his  words  are  echoed  by 
every  foreigner  who  elects,  for  any  lengthy 
period,  to  make  a  home  in  Venice.  Thronged 
for  a  public  festa,  brilliant  with  flags  and 
hangings,  and  echoing  to  the  strains  of  music  ; 
silent  and  deserted  on  frosty,  starlit  nights,  or 
in  the  early  dawn  of  soft,  warm  mornings  ;  with 
its  shops  brightly  illuminated  on  winter  after- 
noons, or  shrouded  with  awnings  from  a  burning 
summer  sun — at  all  hours  and  in  every  season 
the  Piazza  is  "  a  thing  of  beauty,"'  rejoicing  the 
hearts  of  those  who  visit  it,  and  drawing  them 
with  magnetic  attraction  to  itself. 

Other  open  spaces  in  Venice,  even  the  big 

78 


\ 


^CHO^^  £>y 


The  Heart  of  Venice 

Campo  S.  Margherita  and  Campo  S.  Polo,  are 
"  Fields  "';  this  is  "The  Square  ''  par  excelleme. 
Once,  we  are  told,  it  was  so  full  of  merchants 
and  strangers  that  it  might  have  been  called 
the  "  Forum  Orbis,  non  Urbis.''  In  one  sense 
it  is  so  still ;  only  the  cosmopolitan  crowd  of 
to-day  is  bent  on  pleasure  rather  than  on  busi- 
ness. Certainly  all  classes  mingle  here  in  a 
happy  proximity  unknown  in  Paris,  London,  or 
New  York.  On  fine  summer  evenings  when 
the  band  plays,  and  chairs  and  tables  are  spread 
far  out  on  the  pa^•ement  in  front  of  the  cafes, 
groups  of  men  and  women  of  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions sit  side  by  side,  enjoying  the  inexpensive 
luxuries  of  music,  fresh  air,  chatter,  and  flirta- 
tions, with  long-drawn-out  gustations  of  coffee 
and  sciroppi.  The  only  exception  to  the  liberty, 
equality,  and  fraternity  of  the  Piazza  is  the 
understanding  among  Venetian  residents  that, 
in  the  evening,  ladies  should  be  taken  to 
Florian's — the  famous  cafe  that  has  not  closed 
its  doors  day  and  night  for  three  hundred  years 
— rather  than  to  the  less  expensive  cafes  on  the 
north  side  of  the  Piazza.  And  here,  perhaps, 
I  may  inconsequently  insert  a  piece  of  useful 
8i 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

information.  On  sultry  evenings  two  drinks 
rarely  ordered  by  English  people  are  much  to 
be  recommended  :  tamarind  syrup  {tamarhido) 
with  ice  and  aerated  water  {acqiia  gazzosa),  and 
iced  black  coffee  sweetened  to  taste  with  sugar 
dissolved  into  a  syrup. 

The  woman  of  the  people  does  not  feel  Sifista 
complete  unless  she  has  been  "in  Piazza''  to 
hear  the  band.  It  is  unjour  perdu  for  a  Vene- 
tian elegante^  if  she  has  been  unable,  on  a 
winter  morning,  to  take  a  turn  in  Piazza  before 
luncheon.  The  man  whose  business  is  not  too 
far  distant  adjourns  to  the  Piazza  after  his  mid- 
day meal  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee  in  the  sunshine. 
Leisured  patricians  linger  in  Piazza  before 
entering  or  leaving  the  fashionable  club.  The 
well-to-do  babes  of  Venice  clamour  to  be  taken 
to  Piazza  to  see  the  pigeons,  and  their  haUe 
(wet-nurses) — handsome  women  from  the  Friuli 
— are  only  too  pleased  to  fall  in  with  their 
charges'  wishes.  Visitors,  chiefly  English  and 
American,  frequent  Lavena's  tea-rooms  at  five 
o'clock,  and  at  all  hours  gaze  into  the  windows 
where  lace,  jewellery,  beads  and  glass  are  dis- 
played, and  fall  victims  to  exasperating  touts 
82 


5  Si 


'^^r^ 


//    ^. 


^  \'i 


ym'.^tBR; 


The  Heart  of  Venice 

who  pounce  on  the  unwary  with  invitations  to 
visit  glass  or  lace  factories. 

Once,  on  one  never-to-be-forgotten  occasion, 
I  beheld  the  Piazza  as  thickly  thronged  at  two 
o'clock  at  night  as  on  any  festal  afternoon  or 
evening.  Shortly  after  the  terrible  earthquake 
in  Sicily,  Venice  experienced  a  sharp,  though 
brief,  shock.  Every  one,  believing  that  this 
was  but  the  beginning  of  further  disaster, 
iTJshed  into  the  largest  available  open  space, 
regardless  of  the  fact  that  it  was  all  too  small 
for  safety.  Florian's  did  a  good  trade  that 
night ;  for  though  the  weather  was  serene  and 
still,  there  was  a  nip  in  the  air,  and  when  the 
first  terror  had  subsided,  hot  drinks  were  sought 
with  avidity. 

The  wonders  of  the  Piazza  are  epitomized  in 
a  Venetian  quatrain  : 

"  In  Piazza  Sail  Marco  ghe  xe  tre  standardi, 
Ghe  xe  quattro  cavai  che  par  che  i  svola^ 
Ghe  xe  uii  relo^io  clie  par  una  tore, 
Ghe  xe  do  Mori  che  hate  le  ore." 

(In  St.  Mark's  Place  tliere  are  three  standards,  there 
are  four  horses  that  seem  to  fly,  there  is  a  clock  wliich 
seems  a  tovver_,  there  are  two  Moors  who  heat  the 
hours.) 

85 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

Banners  float  from  the  standards  on  Sundays 
and  holidays,  and  at  once  give  the  Piazza  a 
festal  appearance :  the  bronze  bases,  designed 
by  Alessandro  Leopardi  (1505),  are  decorated, 
and  decorative,  to  a  high  degree. 

The  four  horses  ramp  on  the  gallery  over  the 
central  door  of  St.  Mark's.     These 

"  Four  steeds  divine 
That  strike  the  ground  resounding  with  their  feet_, 
And  from  their  nostrils  snort  ethereal  flame/' 

have  moved  a  great  deal  in  the  course  of  their 
long  lives.  They  were  taken  from  the  Triumphal 
Arch  of  Titus  to  adorn  the  Greek  "  New  Rome,"" 
taken  from  Constantinople  by  the  Venetians, 
from  Venice  by  the  great  robber  Napoleon, 
from  Paris  to  Venice  again  by  the  Emperor 
Francis  Joseph. 

The  Torre  dell  Orologio  is  on  our  left  as 
we  stand  by  the  standards  looking  towards  the 
four  bronze  horses.  It  ends  the  line  of 
buildings  on  the  north  side  of  the  Piazza,  and 
looks  towards  the  Basin  of  St.  Mark.  It  is  in 
four  stories  :  first  there  is  a  great  arch,  sustained 
by  marble  pillars  ;  secondly  there  is  the  big  blue 
and  gold  dial  ;  above  this  is  the  gilded  statue 
86 


The  Heart  of  Venice 

of  the  Madonna,  standing  on  a  projecting  semi- 
circular base,  with  a  little  door  on  either  side. 
Higher  still — and  this  section  is  really  a  tower, 
detached  from,  and  above,  the  main  building — 
is  a  field  of  starred  azure  on  which  is  seen,  in 
half-relief,  a  lion  and  the  figure  of  a  kneeling 
Doo;e.  When  the  clock  strikes  twelve  on 
Ascension  Day,  figures  of  the  Magi,  nearly  life- 
size,  emerge  from  one  of  the  little  doors  of  the 
third  story,  pass  before  the  Madonna,  doing 
reverence,  and  disappear  through  the  other 
door. 

If  John  P^veiyn  is  to  be  believed,  this  little 
procession  in  his  day  took  place  daily  at  twelve 
o'clock  and  six — "  the  hours  of  the  Ave  Maria, 
when  all  the  town  are  on  their  knees."  The 
Clock  Tower  is  surmounted  by  the  "  Two 
Moors,"'  huge  bronze  figures  with  a  bell  between 
them,  on  which  they  strike  alternately  with 
hammers.  "  An  honest  merchant  told  me, " 
says  Evelyn, "  that  one  day  walking  in  the  Piazza 
he  saw  the  fellow  who  kept  the  clock  struck 
with  their  hammersoforceably  as  he  was  stooping 
his  head  neare  the  bell  that,  being  stunned,  he 
reeled  over  the  battlements  and  broke  his  neck."^ 

87 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

The  pigeons  which  figure  so  largely  in  Vene- 
tian photographs  might  almost  be  reckoned  as 
a  fifth  wonder  of  the  Piazza.    They  are  probably 
the  descendants  of  pigeons  which  used  to  be  let 
loose  with  shackled  legs  from  the  balcony  over 
the  west  door  of  St.  Mark's  as  part  of  a  Palm 
Sunday  largess  to  the  populace.     Some  of  these 
birds    escaped  and   took  sanctuary  among  the 
spires  and  domes  of  the  Basilica  :  an  act  which 
appealed  to  the  sentiment  and  superstition  of 
the  Venetians,  who  henceforth  not  only  spared 
but  fed  the  doves  of  St.  Mark.     They  now  sub- 
sist on  private  charity,  and  fare  well  on  it,  while 
the  men  who  sell  pennyworths  of  corn  for  their 
consumption   also   benefit  by  the  liberality  of 
children    and    strangei-s  to  these  tame,  glossy, 
prosperous  denizens  of  St.  Mark's  Place. 

A  sixth  wonder  of  the  Piazza  is  undoubtedly 
the  new  Campanile,  erected,  with  the  greatest 
archaeological  care  and  the  highest  engineering 
skill,  to  replace  the  old  one,  which,  in  July,  1902, 
quietly  sat  down,  as  though  worn  out  by  its 
long  watching.  Hardly  less  wonderful  will  be 
the  restoration  of  the  Loggia,  built  by  Sanso- 
vino  in  1540  as  a  meeting-place  for  the  Venetian 
88 


The  Heart  of  Venice 

nobles.  It  was,  of  course,  overwhelmed  hv  the 
fall  of  the  giant  who  had  sheltered  it  ;  but  its 
fragments  were  collected  and  gradually  pieced 
together  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Ducal  Palace: 
so  that,  though  the  original  plans  have  not  been 
found,  the  Loggia  of  Sansovina —  "  little,  yet  of 
singular  and  incomparable  beauty,"  as  Coryat 
found  it — will  once  again  adorn  the  Piazza. 

Much  has  been  urged,  and  may  be  urged,  for 
and  against  these  restorations.  No  one  can  deny 
that  the  distant  view  of  \'enice  from  the  water 
lost  much  by  the  absence  of  the  tall  streak  of 
the  Campanile.  The  view  from  its  summit, 
moreover,  is  a  great  gain  to  the  tourist,  enabling 
him  to  understand  at  a  glance  the  plan  and  situa- 
tion of  the  city,  though  with  a  curious  geo- 
graphical delusion  :  seen  from  a  height  the  roofs 
hide  the  intersecting  canals,  and  Venice  appears 
without  her  waterways. 

The  sentimental  argument  has  a  double  edge, 
and  cuts  both  ways.  As  to  the  aesthetic  argu- 
ments, "  de  gustibus  non  disputandum.'* 
Speaking  as  a  dispassionate  foreigner,  who  has 
seen  Venice  with  and  without  its  Campanile,  yet 
has  not  the  sentiment  of  a  \'enetian  for  a  dear 
91 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

familiar  object,  I  avow  that  the  Piazza  seems 
to  me  more  dignified  ana  harmonious  sa?is  Bell 
Tower,  and  that  St.  Mark's,  already  dwarfed 
apparently  by  the  height  of  the  buildings  to  its 
right  and  left,  and  actually  by  repeated  raisings 
ofthe  pavement  level, appears  to  crouch  yet  lower 
when  overshadowed  by  its  gigantic  sentinel. 

It  is  interesting  to  compare  the  present  aspect 
of  the  Piazza  with  its  appearance  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  as  shown  in  Gentile  Bellini's  famous 
picture  of  a  procession.  On  the  left  we  see  the 
Procuratie  Vecchie  looking  much  as  they  do  in 
a  modern  photograph  ;  but  on  the  right  a  build- 
ing of  more  ancient  character  adjoins  the  Cam- 
panile. This  was  the  Hospital  of  Doge  Pietro 
Orseolo.  In  1582  the  hospital  was  removed  to 
Campo  S.  Gallo,  and  the  dwellings  beyond  it 
were  demolished ;  the  present  line  of  buildings 
was  then  erected  further  back,  and  became  the 
official  residence  of  the  Procurators  of  the  Re- 
public. Though  over  three  hundred  years  old, 
and  long  since  converted  into  a  Royal  palace, 
this  building  is  still  known  as  the  Procuratie 
Nuove.  Early  in  the  nineteenth  century  an 
extension  of  the  palace  in  the  same  style  was 
92 


f  ?^^li|  J?  mm  111 


.V!. 


I'UIM   \     OKIJ-A    fAUTA. 

(Paper  (.iate.) 
The  Stale  entrance  to  the  Ducal  Palace. 


The   Heart  of  Venice 

carried  across  the  west  end  of  the  Piazza,  occupy- 
ing the  site  of  the  old  church  of  S.  Genii- 
niano,  demolished  by  Napoleon. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  widening  of  the 
Piazza  and  isolation  of  the  Campanile  were 
improvements  from  an  aesthetic  point  of  view. 
As  the  termination  of  a  line  of  buildings,  the 
great  tower,  one  would  think,  must  have  risen 
dominating  but  not  obtrusive;  St.  Mark's,  at 
the  end  of  a  naiTOwer  oblong,  must  have  been 
seen  from  the  west  in  better  perspective  ;  while 
the  Piazza  must  have  shown  more  obviously  as 
the  outer  court  of  the  wonderful  temple. 

This  little  book  does  not  pretend  to  be  a 
guide  to  St.  Mark's.  Tourists  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  supplying  themselves  with  detailed 
information  about  the  Basilica  and  the  Ducal 
Palace,  while  those  who  would  see  them  through 
an  artist's  eyes,  and  hear  them  described  in  the 
language  of  a  prose-poet,  have  only  to  turn  to 
the  pages  of  the  "  Stones  of  Venice ''  and  of 
"St.  Mark's  Kest." 

\'isitors  who   have  several  days  to  spend  in 
Venice   will   do   well  to   enter  St.   Mark's   fre- 
quently, steeping  themselves  in  its  colour,  and 
95 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

studying  its  details  bit  by  bit.  Those  whose 
time  is  limited,  or  who,  accustomed  only  to  the 
grey  majesty  of  our  Northern  cathedrals,  feel 
bewildered,  possibly  disappointed,  before  a 
structure  corresponding  to  nothing  in  their 
previous  experience,  may  perhaps  be  helped  to 
obtain  certain  broad  impressions  which  will  fix 
themselves  lastingly  on  the  memory. 

First  of  all,  then,  let  us  stand,  as  early  in  the 
morning  as  may  be,  in  the  shadow  of  the  portico 
in  the  middle  of  the  west  side  of  the  Piazza. 
From  this  Bocca  di  Piazza  (Mouth  of  the 
Square)  we  see  "a  multitude  of  pillars  and 
white  domes,  clustered  into  a  long,  low  pyramid 
of  coloured  light ;  a  treasure-heap  it  seems, 
partly  of  gold  and  partly  of  opal,  and  mother- 
of-pearl  hollowed  beneath  into  five  great  vaulted 
porches  ceiled  with  fair  mosaics  "  (Ruskin) . 

Five  doors  of  bronze  are  sunk  in  these  five 
porches,  the  recesses  of  which  are  pillared  with 
various  precious  marbles.  Above  them  is  a 
second  tier  of  five  arches,  parted  from  the  first 
by  a  loggia  which  runs  across  the  facade,  and 
is  protected  by  three  hundred  and  sixty-four 
columns.     The  upper  arches  are  shallow ;  the 

96 


To  the  left  i>  the  Ducal  Palace  ;  to  the  right  the  Prison 


The  Heart  of  Venice 

central  one  behind  the  bronze  horses  is  larger 
than  the  other  four,  and  is  a  window  protected 
bv  stone  lattice-work.  ''The  crests  of  the 
arches  break  into  a  marble  foam,  and  toss 
themselves  far  into  the  bhie  sky  in  flashes 
and  wreaths  of  sculptured  spray."' 

After  studying  this  lovely  facade  from  a  point 
somewhere  about  the  line  of  the  Standards,  we 
may  enter  the  Basilica,  stepping  down  where 
the  old  Venetians  ascended ;  for,  to  avoid 
inundation,  the  pavement  has  been  raised  re- 
peatedly. We  find  ourselves  in  the  vestibule, 
or  at7^io,  and  here  the  exquisite  carving  of  the 
capitals  should  be  noted,  as  also  the  mosaics 
of  the  vaulting,  which  tell  the  story  of  the 
Creation,  Fall,  Deluge,  and  Lives  of  the  Patri- 
archs. A  door  on  the  right  leads  to  the 
beautiful  baptistry  elaborately  described  bv 
Ruskin. 

Now  let  us  push  aside  the  curtain  and  descend 
into  the  twilight  of  the  church.  At  first  we 
see  nothing  distinctly,  but  we  are  conscious  of 
colour  palpitating  in  the  atmosphere  and 
streaming  out  from  walls  and  pavement.  By 
degrees  we  realize  that  this  pavement,  undulat- 
99 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

ing  gently  like  the  canals,  is  formed  of  precious 
marbles ;  that  the  walls  glow  with  priceless 
incrustations ;  that  the  brightness  overhead  is 
due  to  shafts  of  light  striking  through  narrow 
apertures  in  the  domes  upon  the  crowded 
imagery  of  great  tracts  of  mosaic. 

It  is  the  church  of  a  city  which,  till  the  dis- 
covery of  the  Cape  route,  was  the  great  reposi- 
tory and  mart  of  Oriental  produce,  and  which 
derived  almost  equal  advantages  from  war  or 
alliance  with  the  Turk.  This  wealth  of  mosaic 
reflects  the  history  of  Venice,  reflects  the  "flair" 
of  her  merchants,  connoisseurs  of  precious 
stones  and  gems — reflects  the  temper  of  a  people 
who  had  absorbed  much  of  the  lavishness  and 
luxury  of  Eastern  civilization.  But  the  Orient- 
alism caught  by  the  builders  of  St.  Mark's  was 
chastened  by  Greek  feeling,  while  it  was  applied 
in  the  spirit  of  Gothic  architecture.  The  result 
is  a  "  Place  of  Worship "'  in  the  most  true  and 
emphatic  sense  of  the  phrase ;  a  temple  "  ex- 
ceeding magnifical,"  rich  beyond  the  dreams  of 
avarice,  ingenious  with  the  skill  of  cunning 
workmen ;  where  yet  one  never  thinks  of 
the   costliness,  scarcely  ever  of  the  skill    dis- 

100 


The  Heart  of  Venice 

played,  but  always  of  the  effect  of  glorv  thev 

create. 

"Some  prefer  the  pure  desig-ii : 
Give  me  my  glut  of  colour,  gorge  of  gold/' 

comes  to  be  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  those 
inhabitants  of  Venice  who  turn  into  St.  Mark's 
at  all  hours  and  seasons,  and  luxuriate  in  the 
colour  which  no  words  and  scarcely  any  brush 
can  reproduce. 

Moving  forward  up  the  nave,  we  notice  the 
architrave  of  the  screen,  with  its  gi-eat  bronze 
crucifix  and  the  fourteenth-century  figures  of 
Christ,  His  mother,  and  His  apostles — the  work 
of  two  brothers,  called  after  the  hard  stone 
which  they  carved,  ''  Delle  Massegne.""* 

On  either  side  of  the  screen  are  two  pulpits. 
The  larger,  on  the  north  side,  is  octangular, 
sustained  by  thirteen  columns,  and  in  two 
tiers.  From  the  lower  tier  the  Epistle  is  read  ; 
from  the  upper  the  Gospel.  On  the  south  side 
is  the  pulpit  called  "  Bigonzo,''  from  which  the 
Doge  used  to  be  presented  to  the  people,  and 
where,  on  Maundy  Thursday  and  Ascension 
Day,  the  relics  are  exhibited. 

*  Macigno  is  a  hard  limestone. 

lOl  t 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

The  High- Altar  must  be  noticed,  with  its 
canopy  of  verde  aiitico,  supported  by  four 
marble  columns  with  interesting  reliefs  of  the 
eleventh  century.  The  Pala  d'  Oro,  which  is 
in  its  glory  on  high  festivals,  can  be  uncovered 
and  viewed  at  other  times  on  payment  of 
50  centimes.  It  is  a  magnificent  specimen  of 
the  goldsmiths'  work  of  Constantinople.  Made 
originally  in  1105,  it  was  restored,  with  addi- 
tions, in  the  two  succeeding  centuries.  But 
alas  !  most  of  its  jewels  were  carried  off  by  the 
French  in  1797,  and  inferior  stones  replace 
them. 

Behind  the  High- Altar,  to  the  left,  a  little 
bronze  door  leads  to  the  sacristy.  It  should  be 
noticed,  for  its  maker,  Sansovino,  adorned  it 
with  portraits  of  his  contemporaries.  A  few 
minutes,  at  least,  should  then  be  spent  in  the 
gallery,  reached  by  a  little  staircase  on  the  left 
of  the  principal  entrance-door.  From  this 
point  of  vantage  the  mosaics  of  the  domes  are 
seen  more  easily  than  from  below,  and  very 
beautiful  views  of  the  choir  may  be  obtained. 

The  Piazza  has  two  prolongations :  it  curls 
round  the  Basilica  on  the  north ;  it  thrusts  a 

102 


Copyright 


THE    BRONZE    HORSES. 


On  the  western  parapet  of  St.  Mark's.     To  the  left  is  the  famous 
Clock-Tower 


The   Heart  of  Venice 

straight  arm  out  to  the  Eacino  (IJasin,  or 
Harbour)  on  the  south.  The  first  extension  is 
called  '*  Piazzetta  dei  Leoncini,''  from  two  red 
marble  lions  erected  there  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  It  contains  the  ever-useful  Cook's 
Office,  and  leads  to  the  Palace  of  the  Patriarch 
— the  title,  borrowed  from  the  East,  of  the 
Archbishop  of  \  enice. 

The  south  extension  is  "  the  Piazzetta,"'  tout 
court,  where  stand,  like  sentinels,  two  slender 
granite  columns.  They  were  brought  from 
Greece,  with  a  third  one,  which  fell  into  the 
water  during  disembarkation,  and  could  not  be 
raised.  The  remaining  two  lay  long  on  the 
ground,  till  a  Lombard,  one  Niccolo  Barattiero, 
succeeded  in  erecting  them.  When  asked  to 
name  his  reward,  he  begged  that  gambling, 
prohibited  by  the  Venetian  Republic,  should  be 
permitted  between  the  columns.  The  authori- 
ties stultified  their  permission  by  making  the 
spot  the  place  of  public  execution,  and  therefore 
of  ill-luck. 

On  the  summit  of  one  column  is  the  symbol 
of  the  Winged  Lion  ;  on  the  other  is  St.  Theo- 
dore,  St.   Mark's   predecessor  in   the  oflice  of 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

Protector  of  the  City.  He  was  the  first  Patron 
Saint  of  Venice,  till  in  a.d.  823,  two  valiant 
Venetians  stole  the  body  of  the  Evangelist 
from  Alexandria. 

At  one  time  the  Piazzetta  extended  but  a 
few  paces  beyond  the  columns,  and  in  front 
of  them  was  the  boat  where  those  sent  to  the 
galleys  practised  rowing.  Then  the  ]\Iolo,  or 
esplanade,  was  formed  in  front  of  the  Doge's 
Palace,  and  what  is  now  the  Royal  Garden.* 
It  is  a  sunny  spot,  beloved  by  Venetian 
loiterers. 

Turning  our  backs  to  the  water,  and  looking 
again  towards  the  Piazza,  we  see  on  our  left  the 
Libreria  Vecchia,  the  Old  Library,  built  by 
Sansovino  on  a  site  formerly  occupied  by  inns. 
The  beginning  of  the  work  was  unfortunate, 
for  in  frosty  weather,  in  1545,  an  important 
part  of  the  building  suddenly  collapsed,  and  the 
architect  was  thrown  into  prison.  Released 
through  the  intercession  of  his  friends,  especially 
of  the  much  feared  Aretino,  he  continued  the 
work  till  his  death  in  1570,  leaving  it  to  be 

*  Up  till  1808,  wlieu  the  gardens  were  made_,  this 
space  was  occupied  by  granaries. 
io6 


Copyright 


11.  C.  llhiU  Co. 


[NTERIOR    Ot     Si.    .MARK  S. 
Looking  eastward. 


The  Heart  of  Venice 

completed  by  his  disciple  Scamozzi.  It  is 
exceedingly  stately  and  beautiful — so  beautiful 
that  Talladio  pronounced  it  the  most  perfect 
building  designed  since  the  days  of  ancient 
Rome. 

Between  it  and  the  Royal  Garden,  towards 
the  south,  is  the  Zecca,*  or  Mint,  now  the 
home  of  St.  Mark's  Library,  which,  between 
1812  and  1905,  had  been  lodged  over  the  way, 
in  the  Ducal  Palace.  Like  the  Libreria  \'ecchia, 
it  was  designed  by  Sansovino,  who,  as  a  pre- 
caution against  fire,  built  it  of  iron  and  marble, 
using  no  wood  in  its  construction.  It  is  a 
deHghtful  place  to  read  in,  whether  we  sit  in 
the  great  hall  used  as  a  general  reading-room, 
or  penetrate  into  the  quiet  sala  reserved  for 
readers  of  manuscripts.  The  Early  Flemish 
breviary,  known  as  "  Breviario  Grimani ''  and 
the  fine  copy  of  the  "  Divina  Com  media  "'  of  the 
late  fourteenth  century,  should  be  inspected  bv 
all  book- lovers. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  Piazzetta  is  the 
building   which   was   once    the  Palace,  Prison, 

*  From  which  the  name  of  the  coin  zecchino 
(sequiu)  is  derived. 

log 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

Senate  House,  and  Law  Courts  of  the  Republic, 
and  is  now  its  monument.  Most  of  us  are 
familiar  with  the  Ducal  Palace  long  before  we 
set  foot  in  Venice.  With  its  three  tiers  in- 
creasing in  solidity  upwards,  it  reverses  the 
customs  of  architecture,  and  its  remarkable 
shape,  once  seen  in  photograph  or  print,  is 
deeply  impressed  on  the  memory.  Yet  only 
those  who  have  seen  it  from  the  Piazza  and 
from  the  Lagoon,  in  cloud  and  sunshine,  in  the 
early  morning  and  on  warm,  fair  afternoons, 
can  know  the  loveliness  of  the  colour  produced 
by  the  chequer-work  of  red  and  white  marble 
with  which  the  brick  core  is  overlaid.  The 
thirty-six  columns  of  the  open  colonnade 
running  round  the  west  and  south  sides  of  the 
building  have  no  bases,  and  appear  rather 
stumpy,  a  defect  largely  due  to  repeated  raisings 
of  the  Piazza  level.  Their  capitals  are  ex- 
tremely beautiful,  and  those  at  the  angles 
should  be  studied  carefully,  if  possible  with 
Ruskin's  enthusiastic  elucidations.  The  east 
side,  abutting  on  Rio  Canal,  can  only  be  viewed 
from  a  gondola,  and,  says  Ruskin :  "  There  are 
few  things  in  Italy  more  impressive  than  the 
no 


»     1 

V 

.-_^ 

INTERIOR    OF    ST.    MARk's. 

Showing  the  pulpit  ^from  which  the  gospel  is  read)  and  the  choir-screen. 


The  Heart  of  Venice 

vision  of  it  overhead,  as  the  gondola  glides 
from  beneath  the  *  Bridge  of  Sighs.' "  The 
bridge  itself,  leading  from  the  Criminal  Courts 
to  the  Criminal  Prisons  on  the  further  side  of 
the  Canal,  is  a  commonplace  construction  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  quite  unworthy  of  its 
fallacious  sentimental  reputation. 

Before  going  over  the  Ducal  Palace — a  long 
and  fatiguing  bit  of  sight-seeing,  to  which  the 
entire  morning  must  be  given  up — some  curi- 
osities close  to  its  principal  gateway  should  be 
noticed.  These  are :  two  short  pillars  with 
Greek  inscriptions,  brought  by  the  Venetians 
from  Acre ;  a  block  of  porphyry  known  as  the 
'' Pietra  del  Bando ''  (Stone  of  the  Decree), 
from  which  the  decrees  of  the  Republic  were 
announced  ;  and  two  pairs  of  male  figures  in 
red  porphyry  let  into  the  corner  of  St.  ]\Iark's 
nearest  the  Palace.  Probably  these  (juaint 
couples  represent  four  Emperors  who  shared 
the  JUzantine  throne  in  the  eleventh  century. 
But  the  English  traveller  Coryat  gives  a 
different  account  of  them.  Four  brothers,  he 
savs,  came  from  Albania  to  \'enice.  Two  went 
ashore,  two  remained  on  the  richly-laden  ship. 
113 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

Each  pair  plotted  to  rid  itself  of  the  other ; 
and  at  a  banquet  all  four  died  by  poison  mutually 
administered.  Whereupon  the  Venetian  State 
seized  on  their  treasures,  and  as  a  memorial  of 
the  event  and  its  sequel,  portrayed  the  wicked 
brothers  in  this  curious  fashion.  "  I  confess 
I  never  reade  this  historie,""  says  good  old 
Coryat,  with  touching  faith  in  the  veracity  of 
printed  matter,  "  but  many  gentlemen  of  very 
good  account  in  Venice,  both  Englishmen  and 
others,  reported  it  to  me  for  an  absolute  truth." 

The  gateway  of  the  Palace  in  this  corner 
near  the  church  is  extraordinarily  beautiful 
and  ornate.  It  is  called  the  "Porta  della 
Carta"  (the  Paper  Gate),  because  the  decrees 
of  the  Republic  were  placarded  here.  It  was 
also  called  "  Porta  Dorata,"  from  the  gold  with 
which  it  was  emblazoned.  The  figure  of  the 
kneeling  Doge  above  the  arch  is  modern,  the 
original  having  been  destroyed  by  the  French 
in  1797. 

Through  this  gate  the  visitor  will  enter  the 
Cortile,  where  he  will  look  at  Riccio's  great 
statues  of  Adam  and  Eve,  and  the  fine  Renais- 
sance work  of  the  two  bronze  cisterns.  He 
114 


The   Heart  of  Venice 

will  ascend  the  Giants'  Staircase — so  named 
from  Sansovino's  statues  of  Mars  and  Neptune, 
between  which  the  later  Doges  were  crowned  in 
the  sight  of  an  acclaiming  populace  in  the  court 
below.  He  will  pass  up  the  Scala  d'  Oro 
(Golden  Staircase),  once  trodden  only  by 
Patricians,  whose  names  were  written  in  the 
Golden  Book ;  he  will  find  himself  in  the  great 
rooms  where  the  rulers  of  the  Republic  met  to 
decide  the  destinies  of  the  little  State  which 
played  so  gi'eat  a  part  in  European  history. 

He  will  read  its  annals  in  the  series  of  six- 
teenth-century paintings  which  adorn  the  Palace 
walls ;  and  he  will  look  at  the  only  specimen  of 
earlier  work  remaining  there — the  recently  dis- 
covered fresco  of  Guariento  of  Padua,  which 
has  been  found  beneath  the  gigantic  '*  Paradise  " 
of  Tintoretto,  and  has  been  treated  with  mar- 
vellous skill  and  judgment. 

Then,  with  eye  and  brain  wearied  with 
detailed  information,  imaginative  efforts  and 
wealth  of  visual  impression,  the  traveller  will 
do  well  to  emerge  on  to  the  loggia  on  the  south 
side  of  the  Great  Hall,  overhanging  the  Molo, 
and  to  linger  there  awhile. 
115 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

The  salt  breeze  from  the  Adriatic  will  bring 
him  refreshment,  and  his  tired  eye  will  rest  on 
the  lovely  grouping  of  the  buildings  on  the 
Island  of  S.  Giorgio  Maggiore,  on  the  dancing 
waters  of  the  Basin,  on  the  green  line  of  the 
Lido,  and  on  the  far-off  reaches  of  the  peaceful 
Lagoon. 


ii6 


A     ^HMIM:     in     -I.     MAMK 


CHAPTER  IV 
VENICE  OX   FOOT 

THE  casual  nsitor  to  Venice — more  especially 
if  he  be  (as  many  are)  inclined  to  spend  his 
fortnight  there  as  luxuriously  as  possible — often 
leaves  the  city  without  any  suspicion  that  the 
whole  of  it,  practically,  can  be  traversed  on  foot. 
He  finds  gondolas  waiting  all  day  long  within 
call  of  the  concierge  of  his  hotel ;  or  perhaps, 
with  self-congi'atulatory  foresight,  he  has  en- 
gaged a  particular  gondolier  by  the  week. 
For  the  longer  trips — to  Torcello,  Murano,  or 
Chioggia — he  arranges  that  his  gondolier  shall 
deposit  him  at  the  place  where  the  steamboat 
starts.  Possibly,  in  rare  moments  when  the 
instinct  of  economy  gets  the  better  of  him,  he 
mav  occasionally  take  the  "  tram  "  steamer  to 
the  Lido,  or  up  the  Grand  Canal.  Only  in 
the  Piazza  and  its  purlieus  does  he  condescend 
to  set  foot  to  ground,  except  where  his  gondola 
119 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

lands  him  (by  grace  of  the  rampino  —  the 
chartered  libertine  of  an  old  man  with  a  boat- 
hook  who  claims  to  earn  a  halfpenny,  more  or 
less,  at  every  disembarkation).  Having  fee'd 
this  worthy  and  well-meaning  veteran  (usually 
an  ex-gondolier  past  work),  the  tourist  visits 
the  church  or  other  object  which  he  has  set 
out  to  see,  and  returns  post-haste  to  the  com- 
fortable cushions  which  it  had  cost  him  some 
effort  to  leave. 

But  whoso  would  explore  at  all  fully  the 
beauties  which  Venice  offers  at  every  turn  must 
sav  good-bye  to  the  gondola  cushions  for  hours 
together,  and  take  to  his  feet  and  to  the  some- 
what uneven  pavement  on  which  the  Venetian 
habitually  walks.  He  will  find  that  the  net- 
work of  side-canals,  which  presents  so  many 
quaint  corners  and  picturesque  vistas  to  the 
delighted  eye  as  one  glides  slowly  along  in  gon- 
dola, is  supplemented  by  a  still  more  elaborate 
network  of  narrow  and  tortuous  lanes.  These 
call'i^  as  they  are  called,  provide  an  access  for 
foot  -  passengers  to  every  Venetian  dwelling 
and  public  building,  and  furnish,  incidentally, 
numberless  little  gems  of  beauty  and  interest 

120 


Venice  on   Foot 

that  can  only  be  seen  by  the  enterprising 
pedestrian. 

So  true  is  this  that  the  late  Colonel  Hugh 
Douglas  took  the  trouble  to  compile  an  elaborate 
and  systematic  "Guide  to  Venice  on  Foot"':  and 
a  very  useful  little  book  it  is. 

AVithout  a  careful  study  of  the  map,  the 
foreigner  will  find  it  no  easy  task  to  find  his 
^vay  along  the  calli.  These  alleys  have  many 
angles  in  their  course,  and  few  indeed  of  such 
angles  are  right  angles.  You  may  know  quite 
well  in  what  direction  you  started,  but  I  defy 
anyone  (without  a  pocket  compass)  to  be  sure 
of  the  direction  in  which  his  face  is  set  after  ten 
minutes'  progress  along  the  Venetian  thorough- 
fares I  An  ordinary  "  bump  of  topography " 
is  absolutely  useless  in  this  mad  city  where  all 
the  buildings  seem  to  have  been  thrown  down 
quite  capriciously  and  haphazard,  like  toy  bricks 
on  the  nursery  fioor  of  some  Titan's  child. 
Even  the  Hatives,  if  you  should  ask  them  the 
wav  to  some  object  five  minutes'  walk  distant, 
will  probably  answer  politely :  "I  cannot  explain 
it  to  the  signor,  but  I  will  accompany  him." 

One  afternoon  I  met  at  two  minutes'  distance 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

from  S.  Stefano  a  born  Venetian  who  anxiously 
inquired  of  me  the  way  to  that  church.  When 
I  showed  him  how  near  we  were  to  the  object 
of  his  quest,  he  explained  his  ignorance  by  say- 
ing, "lo  sono  di  Castello,  signor*' — he  belonged 
to  the  eastern  division  of  the  city,  the  Sestiere 
of  Castello,  so  he  could  not  be  expected  to  pos- 
sess any  acquaintance  with  the  topography  of 
another  quarter!  The  Municipality  does  its 
best  to  keep  us  informed ;  there  is  no  lack  of 
clearly  painted  instructions  and  directions.  At 
«very  important  corner,  in  each  of  the  campklli^ 
or  campi  (the  name  given  to  all  the  squares  or 
open  spaces  other  than  the  Piazza),  two  or  three, 
or  sometimes  even  four,  lines  of  inscription 
explain  to  the  instructed  traveller  his  where- 
abouts. But  the  stranger  certainly  needs  a 
little  preliminary  instruction,  otherwise  the 
thoughtful  care  of  a  grandmotherly  Municipio 
will  only  cause  him  increased  embarrassment. 
What  would  the  uninstructed  make,  for  instance, 
of  an  inscription  such  as  this  ? — 

SESTIERE  DI  CANNAREGGIO 
PARROCHIA  SS.  ERMAGORA  E  FORTUNATO  (s.  MARCUOLA) 
FONDAMENTA  E  RIO  BELLA  MALVASIA. 

124 


m  IB 


Venice  on  Foot 

At  the  risk,  therefore,  of  tediousness,  it  will 
be  wise,  before  committing  ourselves  to  the 
sinuosities  of  the  Venetian  callc^  to  spend  a 
moment  or  two  on  technical  terms. 

The  city  of  Venice  is  divided — and  has  been 
divided  since  the  twelfth  century  —  into  six 
sections  called  sestieri.  Three  of  these  are  on 
the  north  side  of  the  Grand  Canal :  Cannareggio, 
which  includes  the  railway  station,  on  the  west ; 
S.  Marco  in  the  middle,  and  Castello  (including 
the  Arsenal  and  the  Public  Gardens)  on  the 
east.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Canalazzo  are 
the  sestieri  of  S.  Croce  (facing  the  railway 
station  and  verging  to  the  west)  ;  S.  Polo, 
occupying  the  central  position  ;  and  Dorsoduro, 
a  large  sestiere  which  embraces  not  only  the 
region  lying  to  the  south  of  the  S.  Marco  end 
of  the  Grand  Canal,  but  also,  further  south 
again,  the  separate  island  of  the  Giudecca. 

The  houses  in  each  of  these  sestieri  are  num- 
bered straight  on,  not  according  to  the  number 
of  houses  in  a  given  street,  or  calle.  Thus,  one 
of  a  group  or  row  of  half  a  dozen  dwellings 
may  be  the  proud  possessor  of  a  numerical  title 
which  runs  into  four  figures ;  there  is  an  item 
127 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

in  the  largest  sestiere — that  of  Castello — which 
attains  to  the  formidable  total  of  No.  6848  ! 

Beneath  the  name  of  the  sestiere  comes, 
ordinarily,  that  of  the  parish.  There  are  in 
all  thirty  parishes  in  Venice,  including  that  of 
S.  Eufemia  on  the  Giudecca ;  and  many  of 
them  bear  the  names  of  little-known  or  quaintly 
disguised  saints.  We  have  already  spoken  of 
the  way  in  which  two  quadrisyllable  names 
were  transformed  into  the  more  manageable 
*'  S.  Marcuola.'"  Another  instance  of  the  same 
process  of  transformation  is  to  be  found  on  one 
of  the  most  picturesque  of  the  side-canals  in 
the  sestiere  of  Dorsoduro,  within  two  minutes'* 
walk  of  the  Accademia,  or  Art  Gallery.  Here 
the  two  saints  Gervasius  and  Protasius  have 
consented  to  be  known  compactly  as  *'  S. 
Trovaso.^^ 

Most  of  the  Venetian  churches  are  approached 
from  an  open  space — a  little  square  which  is 
invariably  named  after  the  church's  patron 
saint.  Such  a  square  is  not  dignified  with  the 
name  of  "  Piazza  So-and-so,"  as  it  would  be  in 
any  other  Italian  city  ;  it  is  called  "  Campo," 
or,  if  it  be  very  small,  "  Campiello.''  Campo 
12S 


Venice  on   Foot 

— i.e.,  "  meadow '' — is  a  word  that  suggests  at 
once  Venice's  chief  defect.  The  truth  is  that 
in  former  days  grass  did  really  gi*ow  in  these 
open  spaces,  where  now  all  is  a  wilderness  of 
paving-stones. 

These  campi  and  campielli — especially  those 
more  remote  from  the  more  frequented  canals — 
are  well  worth  inspection.  There  one  may 
often  see  Venetian  life  in  its  naive  state,  watch 
the  popoUno — the  proletariat,  as  we  should  say 
— enjoying  itself  in  its  own  chosen  ways,  and 
hear  the  soft  dialect  to  perfection.  A  typical 
campo  of  the  plebeian  sort  is  the  spacious,  but 
not  very  dignified,  Campo  S.  Margherita,  in 
the  parish  of  S.  Maria  del  Carmine.  A  few  of 
the  camp},  like  that  of  S.  Polo,  are  on  certain 
tlays,  by  permission  of  the  authorities,  con- 
verted into  drying-grounds  for  the  laundresses. 
All  of  them,  without  exception,  become  play- 
grounds for  the  children  of  the  neighbourhood 
out  of  school  hours — scenes  of  such  incessant 
and  strident,  though  good-tempered,  uproar 
that  those  whose  lodging  abuts  upon  a  campo 
or  camph'Uo  are  often  tempted  to  wish  that 
the  Italian  child  was  kept  at  school  for  more 

129  F 


Things   Seen  in   Venice 

hours  in  the  day  !  A  special  feature  of  in- 
terest in  most  of  the  campi  is  the  well-head, 
now  supplied  with  splendid  water  by  aqueduct 
from  the  mountain — a  point  of  meeting  and  an 
excuse  for  gossip  for  many  a  Uvely  and  pic- 
turesque group  of  women.  Some  of  the  finest 
well-heads,  from  an  artistic  point  of  view,  are 
to  be  found  in  enclosed  courtyards,  be  it  the 
grand  quadrangle  of  the  Ducal  Palace  or  some 
secluded  and  forgotten  corte  in  the  less  know^n 
parts  of  the  city.  These  little  coj'ti  have  no 
outlet,  as  a  rule,  except  the  entrance,  and  if  a 
stranger,  moved  by  curiosity,  or  enticed  by  a 
glimpse  of  some  unusually  picturesque  object, 
be  seen  to  enter  one,  the  chances  are  that  he 
will  be  annoyed  by  the  shouts  of  well-meaning 
but  officious  boys :  "  Non  si  passa !  non  si 
passa  !""  as  much  as  to  say,  "  No  thoroughfare  !'"* 
The  same  fate  may  overtake  him,  and  with 
more  reason,  if  he  turn  down  a  calle  —  and 
there  are  many  of  them — which  is  a  cul-de-sac. 
He  who  is  bold  enough  and  wise  enough  to 
explore  Venice  on  foot  must  be  prepared  for 
sundry  false  leads  and  momentary  embarrass- 
ments ;  when  he  is  just  congratulating  himself 
130 


Venice  on   Foot 

on  having  discovered  a  genuine  short  cut,  ten 
to  one  he  will  find  himself  suddenly  pulled  up 
by  green  water :  his  cleverness  has  only  led 
him  to  an  impassable  side-canal,  and  he  must 
humbly  retrace  his  steps.  Not  every  such 
axl venture  is  waste  of  time,  however ;  very 
hkely  the  blind  alley  may  have  introduced  him 
to  some  graceful  little  scrap  of  sculpture  let 
into  a  most  unlikely  wall,  or  to  some  patheti- 
callv  cared  for  miniature  shrine  of  the  Madonna, 
not  mentioned  in  any  guide-book,  nor  known 
to  the  average  well-informed  student  of  Venice. 
Besides  calh\  campo^  campiello^  and  corte, 
there  are  various  other  mystic  signs  inscribed 
upon  the  walls.  Callesella  is  the  diminutive 
of  calle^  and  is  applied  to  a  passage  of  even 
narrower  proportions  than  the  normal  ones,  in 
which  two  people  can  scarcely  pass  one  another 
without  touching ;  sottoportico  is  a  name 
applied  to  a  covered  way,  often  leading  into 
a  cortc.  Poiite,  of  course,  means  bridge ;  there 
are  between  three  and  four  hundred  of  them  in 
Venice,  connecting  the  footways  on  this  side 
and  that  of  the  numberless  small  canals,  and 
every  bridge  involves  eight  or  a  dozen  stone 
133 


Things  Seen   in  Venice 

steps  to  be  mounted  by  the  weary  pedestrian. 
Besides  the  exercise  it  affords  to  the  moun- 
taineering muscles  of  the  walker,  the  Venetian 
bridge  subserves  another  useful  purpose ;  it 
forms  a  convenient  landmark.  "The  third 
turn  to  the  right  after  the  second  bridge''  is 
a  typical  direction  to  have  given  one.  Bio 
means  a  canal;  fondamenta,  a  paved  path  or 
quay,  which  sometimes  runs  beside  a  rio, 
where  the  houses  do  not  (as  is  often  the  case) 
rise  up  sheer  out  of  the  water.  Sqiiero  is  a  word 
dear  to  the  painter's  heart,  for  it  denotes  one 
of  the  most  sketchable  objects  in  this  artist's 
paradise — the  yard  or  shed  where  gondolas  are 
sent  for  their  periodical  cleaning  and  repair. 
Here  the  eye  has  a  rest  from  the  ubiquitous 
stonework  of  palace,  bridge,  and  pavement; 
the  rich,  dark  tones  of  wooden  sheds  are 
enforced  when  the  squero  is  active  by  a  touch 
of  smoke  and  flame,  backed  sometimes,  as  in 
the  favourite  squero  of  S.  Trovaso,  by  a  re- 
freshing mass  of  green  bushes. 

The  names  of  the  calU  are  often  very  quaint, 
and  sometimes  unintelligible.     More  ohen  than 
not  they  record   either  the  name  of  a  great 
134 


Venice  on   Foot 

family  of  the  neighbourhood  or  of  an  ait  or 
trade  once  practised  there.  "  Calle  de  Magazen  '"* 
is  a  frequently  recurring  title,  which,  however, 
gives  us  no  more  definite  information  than  that 
there  was  at  some  time  or  other  a  shop  in  the 
calle.  More  specific  in  their  teaching  are 
names  like  "  Calle  del  Pestrin  "  (of  the  Dairy- 
man), "del  Remer''  (of  the  Oar-maker),  "della 
Malvasia""  (of  the  shop  where  imported  wines 
were  sold),  "  del  Fruttarol ''  (of  the  Fruit-seller), 
"  del  Caffetier "'  (of  the  Coffee-house  keeper), 
"del  Forner"  (of  the  Baker),  "del  Beccher"' 
(of  the  Butcher),  and  so  forth.  At  least  two 
of  the  busiest  Venetian  streets — the  "  Merceria  "^ 
and  the  "  Frezzaria '"' — are  without  the  surname 
calle  or  its  equivalent.  The  former  explains 
itself;  the  latter  means  a  place  where  arroKS 
were  made.  Sometimes  the  name  points  to  a 
characteristic  of  the  street  itself.  "  Calle  Larga"** 
and  "  Calle  Lunga  "  (like  "  Merceria '')  explain 
themselves  sufficiently,  and  so  almost  does 
"  Calle  Crosera,""  which  simply  means  "  Cross 
Street.''  Similarly  "  Ponte  Storta"'  (Crooked 
Bridge)  is  the  name  for  a  bridge  which  crosses 
the  canal  diagonally.  Now  and  again  a  more 
137 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

picturesque  memory  is  enshrined  in  the  title,  as 
in  the  case  of  "  Ponte  della  Guerra  "  (Bridge 
of  the  Battle)  and  "  Ponte  dei  Pugni  "  (Bridge 
of  the  Fisticuffs),  both  of  which  were  scenes  of 
the  annual  contests  (which  took  place  all 
through  the  Middle  Ages  and  down  to  the 
eighteenth  century)  between  the  Castellani  in 
the  east  of  the  city  and  the  Nicolotti  of  the 
west — hearty  faction  fights  which  not  seldom 
resulted  in  fatalities,  but  were  sometimes 
tolerated,  sometimes  actually  approved,  by 
the  authorities.  "  Calle  del  Traghetto  "  is  a 
name  which  combines  ornament  with  useful- 
ness, for  it  enables  the  stranger  to  advance 
with  confidence,  sure  that  if  he  strikes  green 
water  at  the  other  end  he  will  find  also  the 
means  of  crossing  it,  and  not  be  forced  to 
retrace  his  steps  under  a  fire  of  juvenile 
criticism. 

Ruga  {cf.  French  rue)  is  a  calle  that  was 
lined  with  shops  on  either  hand.  Ramo  is  a 
name  that  frequently  appears ;  it  is  applied  to 
a  ''  branch,"'  or  small  offshoot,  of  a  larger  calle. 
Salizzada^  which  simply  means  a  pavement 
or  paved  place,  records  the  fact  that  the 
138 


f/ 


Topical  Press, 
CANAL    AND    "  SQL  ERO  "    OF    S.    TROVASO. 

In  the  Squero  the  gondolas  are  periodically  cleaned  and  repaired. 


Venice   on   Foot 

(usually  rathur  broad)  calle  so  named  was 
once  the  principal  street  in  its  parish,  and  so 
achieved  the  dignity  of  a  paved  condition  in 
the  remote  ages  when  the  rest  of  Venice  was  in 
a  state  more  easily  imagined  than  described. 

One  other  term  demands  a  place  in  our 
working  vocabulary — piscma  —  which  implies 
that  the  little  open  space  so  designated  is  not 
just  a  campiello,  or  small  square,  but  the  site 
of  an  old  fish-pond. 

Certain  routes  which  form  the  arteries  ot 
V^enetian  life  and  movement,  like  the  Merceria — 
Venice's  Bond  Street — which  leads  from  the 
Piazza  to  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Rialto ;  or 
the  vastly  more  complicated  route  which  conducts 
you  (if  you  can  trace  it)  from  the  Accademia 
to  the  railway  station,  are  quite  busy  thorough- 
fares, especially  at  certain  times  of  day.  Some 
of  the  most  frequented  thoroughfares,  like  the 
Via  Vittorio  Emanuele  and  the  Calle  Larga 
Ventidue  Marzo  (March  22,  1848),  both  com- 
memorating in  their  names  the  struggle  for 
Italian  liberty,  have  been  widened  to  meet  the 
necessities  of  modern  traffic  ;  but  in  the  rest  a 
motley  stream  of  good-natured  humanity  jostles 
141 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

itself  amiably  at  exceedingly  close  quarters, 
while  the  few  individuals  whose  business  cari'ies 
them  in  the  unfashionable  direction  have  as 
much  as  they  can  do  to  make  any  headway. 

Many  of  the  Venetian  churches  and  other 
points  of  interest  are  most  conveniently  visited 
on  foot ;  indeed,  the  visitor  who  shirks  walking 
will  almost  certainly  remain  ignorant  of  some  of 
the  things  most  worth  seeing.  Such  are  the 
beautiful  little  campo  and  church  of  S.  Aponal 
(S.  Apollinaris),  with  its  precious  bit  of  sculpture 
from  the  demolished  church  of  S.  Elena  ;  S. 
Maria  Mater  Domini  ;  S.  Andrea,  with  its 
typical  campo^  recalling  the  old  days  when 
these  campi  had  a  right  to  the  name  of 
"  meadows,""  and  other  spots,  too  numerous  for 
mention,  some  of  which  cannot  be  very  comfort- 
ably approached  in  gondola,  while  others  gain 
in  the  dramatic  force  of  their  impressiveness 
when  approached  on  foot. 

Then  there  are  recognized  promenades,  where 
gentle  exercise  can  be  combined  with  the  joy 
of  a  sun-bath  and  the  edification  of  a  little 
sight-seeing  if  desired.  The  famous  Riva  degli 
Schiavoni — commonly  called  for  short,  "the 
142 


Venice  on   Foot 

Riva" — is  the  noblest  and  most  popular  of 
these  promenades.  As  you  walk  along  it,  you 
have  the  continuous  prospect  of  the  Bacino 
di  S.  Marco,  with  its  shipping,  the  fine  group  of 
the  Custom  House  and  church  of  the  Salute  in 
the  middle  distance  to  one  side,  and  in  the 
background  the  long  line  of  the  Giudecca,  the 
island  of  S.  Giorgio  ]\Iaggiore  in  the  centre, 
with  its  striking  outline  of  church  and  convent 
buildings  ;  and,  at  the  other  extreme,  a  distant 
view  of  the  Lido — Venice's  natural  breakwater — 
and  its  attendant  islands.  On  its  landward  side, 
meanwhile,  the  Riva  gives  access  directly  or 
through  side-passages  to  numberless  points  of 
interest :  the  church  of  S.  Zaccaria,  the  small 
chapel  of  the  Sclavonian  Fraternity,  adorned 
with  Carpaccio's  masterpieces,  the  Greek  church 
with  its  leaning  tower,  the  old  granaries  of  the 
Republic — abutting  on  the  Riva  itself — now 
converted  by  a  compassionate  city  to  serve  as  a 
nightly  shelter  for  the  homeless  poor  ;  and  above 
all,  the  famous  Arsenal  with  Grecian  Lions  on 
its  portal,  the  busy  scene,  as  Dante  records,  of 
Venice's  shipbuilding  in  the  days  of  her  naval 
greatness.  A  longer  walk  in  the  same  direction 
H3 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

will  bring  the  pedestrian  to  the  Public  Gardens, 
one  of  the  few  beneficent  traces  of  Napoleon's 
domination,  a  green  refuge  from  the  desert  of 
stone,  brick,  and  water,  or  to  the  church  of  S. 
Pietro  in  Castello — till  Napoleon's  day  the 
cathedral — at  the  easternmost  point  of  the  city. 
Beyond  the  Public  Gardens,  again,  an  open 
breezy  meadow  walk  is  offered  by  the  adjacent 
island  of  S.  Elena. 

The  Zattere  is  another  delightful  promenade, 
radiant  with  sunshine  on  a  frosty  winter's  day  ; 
resplendent  with  sunset  glow  on  any  fine  evening. 
The  Venetian  sunsets  should  be  viewed  by  every 
one  from  the  Zattere  on  foot,  and  from  the 
Bacino  and  different  parts  of  the  Lagoon  in 
gondola. 

Facing  the  Zattere,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wide  Giudecca  Canal,  is  another  long  prome- 
nade, running  practically  the  whole  length  of  the 
island  of  that  name.  This  fbiid amenta  does  not 
attract  the  general  run  of  visitors  ;  partly  be- 
cause, facing  north,  it  lies  for  a  large  part  of  the 
day  in  the  shade  (a  recommendation,  surely,  on  a 
hot,  sultry  day),  and  partly  because  its  buildings 
are  mean  and  squalid  compared  with  those  on 
144 


//.  C.  il  'UU  Co. 


KMUAX(  i:    TO     ITli:    AH>i:.NAI.. 


Venice  on   Foot 

the  other  side  of  the  water.  English  visitors 
are  apt  to  confine  their  attention  to  the  impor- 
tant church  of  the  Redentore,  and  to  the 
altogether  charming  little  English  hoNpital 
(Ospedale  Cosmopolitano)  close  by,  where 
they  are  sure  of  a  warm  English  welcome  from 
the  matron  and  her  efficient  staff.  But  if  it 
were  only  for  the  long  straight  "  sprint "  it 
offers  in  a  city  of  narrow  lanes  with  countless 
turns,  t\i\^  Jo  nd  anient  a  of  the  Giudecca  would 
appeal  to  the  Englishman  whose  "  constitu- 
tional'' is  almost  a  part  of  his  creed.  The 
promenade  affords,  moreover,  a  most  varied  and 
comprehensive  view  both  of  the  shipping,  which 
crowds  more  and  more  thickly  every  year  into 
the  Giudecca  Canal,  and  of  the  "  Heart  of  N'en- 
ice  ''  on  the  other  bank.  Nor  is  the  view  of  the 
Eagoon  from  the  far  side  of  the  island  to  be 
despised.  The  little  terrace  on  the  roof  of  the 
English  hospital  forms  a  magnificent  point  of 
vantage.  To  the  east,  just  across  the  narrow 
Rio  della  Croce,  it  is  flanked  by  the  refreshing 
green  mass  of  Mr.  Eden's  spacious  garden,  with 
its  endless  rows  of  lilies  and  bowers  of  roses  ;  to 
the  north  the  outline  of  the  Redentore  church 
147 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

leads  the  eye  on  to  an  extended  and  general 
view  of  Venice  ;  while  southwards  and  westward 
more  gardens  shape  themselves  into  a  fore- 
ground for  the  loveliest  and  dreamiest  vista  of 
outspread  water  and  magic  floating  islands, 
backed  by  the  far-off'  mountains  of  Padua,  too 
coy  to  show  themselves  except  just  now  and 
acrain. 


148 


CHAPTER   V 
THE  LAGOON 

VENICE  has  been  styled  the  gem  of  the 
Adriatic ;  the  Lagoon  is  the  beautiful 
setting  to  this  jewel.  AVithout  the  Lagoon, 
indeed,  Venice  could  not  exist  at  all ;  its  ruin 
would  begin  speedily  on  the  first  stormy  day. 
P'or  the  Lao;oon,  with  its  lono^  frin^je  of  Lido 
islands,  and  its  five  porti,  or  openings,  which 
admit  a  regular  ebb  and  How  of  tide,  protects 
the  city  at  once  from  the  boisterous  Adriatic 
and  from  the  internal  perils  of  stagnation  and 
malaria.  In  earlier  days  defence  was  needed 
also  from  the  assaults  of  human  foes ;  and  this 
is  amj)ly  provided  by  the  treacherous  sandbanks 
which  guard  the  openings  on  the  seaward  side 
and  the  intricate  system  of  mudbanks  which 
the  inrush  and  outflowing  of  the  tide  has  formed 
within.  Someone  has  said  of  Nature  that  while 
she  works  like  a  machine  she  sleeps  all  the  while 
151 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

like  a  picture.  This  is  pre-eminently  true  of 
the  Venetian  Lagoon.  All  day  long  she  is  hard 
at  work,  cleansing  by  means  of  her  tidal  move- 
ments the  waterways  of  the  thickly  populated 
city,  chasing  away  unimaginable  perils  of  deadly 
disease  by  her  unfailing  sanitary  activity  ;  morn- 
ing, noon,  and  night  she  looks  so  serenely  fair 
that  the  enchanted  gazer  might  be  tempted  to 
believe  that  her  one  purpose  in  life  was  to  look 
beautiful. 

No  one  who  desires  to  understand  the  inner 
character  and  working  of  this  vast  sheet  of 
water,  the  product  of  the  interaction  of  the  sea, 
the  Lido  islands  and  the  rivers,  should  fail  to 
read  the  first  chapter  of  Mr.  Horatio  Brown's 
"  Life  on  the  Lagoons."  There  he  will  find 
expressed  in  charming  language,  by  one  who 
has  made  the  Lagoon  his  home,  the  inner  truth 
of  the  matter. 

This  expanse  of  protected  water — estimated, 
says  Mr.  Horatio  Brown,  to  cover  a  surface  of 
no  less  than  160  geographical  miles — contains 
numberless  points  of  interest.  There  are  not 
a  few  islands  specially  worth  visiting  for  their 
picturesqueness  or  for  their  historical  associa- 
152 


The  Lagoon 


tions.  To  the  north  and  east  of  \  enice  proper 
there  spreads  out  a  long  train  of  islands,  of 
which  the  first  is  San  Michele,  the  cemetery, 
and  the  last  Torcello,  with  its  very  ancient 
basilica,  once  the  mother  church  of  Venice. 
Between  these  lie  Murano  and  Burano.  The 
former  is  the  seat  of  the  famous  glassmaking 
industry  for  which  Venice  was  celebrated  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  is  celebrated  again  to- 
day ;  famous,  too,  for  its  glorious  church 
of  SS.  Maria  and  Donato,  and  for  the  tine 
Bellini  picture  which  adorns  the  other  church 
of  St.  Peter  Martyr.  The  latter  is  a  miniature 
Venice,  in  which  the  march  of  civilization  has 
not  produced  such  deplorable  results  as  those 
which  mark  the  more  beaten  tracks  of  the  tourist. 
Here  you  shall  find  (besides,  and  in  spite  of,  the 
lace-making  industry)  a  people — I  will  not  say 
absolutely  unsophisticated  and  unspoiled — but 
at  any  rate  more  ready  to  wear  characteristic 
costumes,  and  less  aggressive  in  the  art  of 
touting. 

Of  Torcello  everyone  should  read   Kuskin"'s 
glowing  account  in  the  "Stones  of  Venice'^; 
everyone  who  is  not  hindered  by  physical  in- 
^55 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

firmity  should  ascend  the  old  Lombardic  Cam- 
panile and  drink  in  the  incomparable  view  it 
offers  of  the  far-stretching  Lagoon  and  distant 
Venice. 

"Far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  a  waste  of  wild 
sea-moor,  of  a  lurid  ashen-grey ;  not  like  our 
Northern  moors,  with  their  jet-black  pools  and 
purple  heath,  but  lifeless,  the  colour  of  sack- 
cloth. .  .  .  No  gathering  of  fantastic  mists, 
nor  coursing  of  clouds  across  it ;  but  melan- 
choly clearness  of  space  in  the  warm  sunset, 
oppressive,  reaching  to  the  horizon  of  its  level 
gloom.  To  the  very  horizon,  on  the  north-east ; 
but,  to  the  north  and  west,  there  is  a  blue  line 
of  higher  land  along  the  border  of  it,  and  above 
this,  but  farther  back,  a  misty  band  of  moun- 
tains, touched  with  snow.  To  the  east,  the  pale- 
ness and  roar  of  the  Adriatic  ...  to  the  south, 
the  widening  branches  of  the  calm  Lagoon, 
alternately  purple  and  pale  green.  .  .  .  Beyond 
the  widening  branches  of  the  Lagoon,  and  rising 
out  of  the  bright  lake  into  which  they  gather, 
there  are  a  multitude  of  towers,  dark,  and 
scattered  among  square- set  shapes  of  clustered 
palaces,  a  long  irregular  line  fretting  the 
156 


The   Lagoon 


southern  sky.  Mother  and  daughter,  you  be- 
hold them  both  in  their  widowhood — Torcello 
and  \'enice/'' 

Torcello  one  sees  at  one's  feet,  "  a  group  of 
four  buildings,  two  of  them  little  larger  than 
cottages.''  The  interior  of  the  larger  church  is 
strangely  impressive,  both  in  its  antique  ar- 
rangements and  in  its  "  solemn  mosaics  ";  while 
the  small  chapel  of  Santa  Fosca  near  by  is  in 
its  way  a  perfect  architectural  gem. 

Eastward  of  this  line  of  islands — north-east 
of  Murano  and  almost  due  south  of  Torcello, 
not  far  from  the  Litorale  di  S.  Erasmo,  which 
forms  the  breakwater  of  the  Lagoon  on  the 
north  of  the  "  port  of  Lido  " — lies  the  extremely 
picturesque  island  of  S.  Francesco  del  Diserto, 
where  a  still  existing  Franciscan  monastery 
marks  the  traditional  spot  where  the  great 
founder  of  the  Order  spent  some  time  in  solitary 
and  penitential  meditation. 

Wonderful  is  the  prospect  of  this  northern 
lagoon  from  the  Fondamente  Nuove ;  best  of 
all,  perhaps,  near  the  Sacco  della  Misericordia, 
with  its  piles  of  logs  backed  by  the  lonely  and 
mysterious  "  Casa  degli  Spiriti,"  whose  Anglo- 
157  G 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

Saxon  owner  has  meritoriously  restored  to  its 
pristine  beauty  the  neighbouring  Contarini 
garden. 

To  the  west,  on  the  side  where  the  long  rail- 
way viaduct  spans  the  Lagoon,  a  number  of 
small  islets  lie  dotted  about,  apparently  float- 
ing upon  the  surface  of  the  water;  pleasant 
spots,  these,  for  a  fine  day's  picnic.  Prominent 
among  the  islands  of  the  eastern  lagoon  is 
S.  Giorgio  in  Alga  (St.  George  of  the  Seaweed), 
and  though  its  present-day  use  as  a  powder- 
magazine  renders  the  shore  of  this  historic  isle 
a  forbidden  land,  its  picturesqueness  and  the 
lingering  charm  of  its  former  human  interest 
still  invite  the  lover  of  beauty  to  moor  his 
gondola  close  under  its  shadow. 

Of  its  ancient  glory,  however,  there  remains 
little  but  a  fine  old  wall,  from  which  the  figure 
of  the  "  Madonna  of  the  Parasol,"'  quaint  and 
graceful,  if  of  small  artistic  value,  watches  the 
passing  of  the  new-fangled  vapoiini  and  the  old- 
fashioned  fishing-boats. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century 
this  island  belonged  to  a  congregation  of  Canons, 
one   of  whom   was  a  famous  Venetian  bishop, 

158 


The  Lagoon 

St.  Lorenzo  Giustiniani.  The  conventual  build- 
ings, with  their  garniture  of  fine  pictures  and 
their  famous  library,  were  all  destroyed  by  fire 
in  the  early  years  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
when  the  property  had  passed  into  the  hands 
of  the  Carmelites. 

The  railway  viaduct  itself,  so  prominent  a 
feature  of  this  western  lagoon,  acquires  a  certain 
dignity  from  its  sheer  length  ;  two  miles  and  a 
half  of  uniform  arcading,  broken  only  here  and 
there  where  a  tiny  island  has  been  pressed  into 
the  service  of  the  engineer's  art.  Nor  should 
its  utilitarian  and  commonplace  associations 
obscure  for  us  its  memories  of  heroism  and 
pathos.  This  bridge  was  the  scene  of  many  a 
doughty  deed  in  the  days  of  the  great  siege  of 
1849,  when,  for  five  months,  the  city  under  her 
last  Doge,  Daniele  Manin,  stood  out  single- 
handed  against  the  power  of  Austria,  only  to 
capitulate  when,  in  the  burning  heat  of  August, 
the  horrors  of  cholera  had  been  added  to  those 
of  famine  and  bombardment. 

The  bridge  itself  bears  testimony  to  its  glo- 
rious past  in  the  monument  erected  to  Agostino 
Stefani,  whose  story  is  surely  one  of  the  most 
i6i 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

pathetic  on  record.  During  the  siege  the 
Venetians  laid  a  mine  to  blow  up  the  railway 
bridge,  some  distance  from  the  citv.  For  some 
reason  or  other  the  mine  did  not  explode. 
Ac^ostino  then  came  forward  and  volunteered 
to  row  off  in  his  sandolo  and  set  the  matter 
right.  General  Cosenz  accepted  the  noble  offer, 
and  the  young  man  set  forth,  in  face  of  a  double 
lire,  from  Malghera  and  from  S.  Giuliano. 
He  reached  the  place  unscathed,  and  accom- 
plished his  work,  but  had  scarcely  turned  his 
prow  homewards  when  an  Austrian  cannon-shot 
sunk  his  little  boat  under  him. 

To  swim  ashore  was  no  lic^ht  task,  for  the 
current  was  against  him ;  but  the  sense  of 
achievement,  and  the  inspiration  of  an  antici- 
pated hero's  welcome,  gave  him  courage,  and 
just  as  his  strength  was  exhausted  a  passing 
Venetian  patrol  boat  picked  him  up.  Alas  ! 
his  rescuers  mistook  the  speechless  man  for  an 
Austrian  spy,  and  an  excited  crowd  on  the  bank 
began  to  shower  stones  upon  the  boat  which 
was  thought  to  contain  such  an  object  of  exe- 
cration. The  people  on  the  boat  then  actually 
threw  the  poor  fellow  back  into  the  water,  and 
162 


Ballaiice,  St.  Moritz. 
WAR    AXD    PEACE. 
Ironclad  and  fishing-boat  moored  off  the  Public  Gardens. 


The   Lagoon 

he  was  overwhelmed  with  blows  of  oars  and 
stones  ere  General  Cosenz  could  come  up  to 
identify  and  rescue  him. 

On  this  western  side  of  Venice  the  manifold 
connection  with  the  mainland  is  effected  not 
only  by  the  railway.  The  all-important  water- 
supply —  r  acqucdotto  —  finds  its  way  along 
the  bed  of  the  western  lagoon,  and  in  this  direc- 
tion lie  the  two  steamer  routes  to  the  mainland 
which  still  compete  with  the  ferrovia.  One 
can  go  from  the  Riva  or  from  the  Zattere  by 
steamer,  past  S.  Giorgio  in  Alga,  to  Fusina ;  or 
from  near  the  Rial  to  up  the  Grand  Canal  and 
the  Cannareggio  to  Mestre,  along  the  northern 
side  of  the  railway  bridge.  On  a  fine  day  the 
trip  to  Mestre,  whether  taken  by  steamer  or, 
more  leisurely  and  luxuriously,  in  gondola, 
affords  splendid  views  of  the  mountains  of  the 
Cadore,  whose  snow-capped  peaks  form  a  lovely 
background  to  the  vast  expanse  of  water.  A 
tri}i  to  Fusina  is  also  well  worth  while,  the  more 
as  this  little  port  on  the  mouth  of  the  Brenta 
gives  access  to  a  light  railway  which  follows  that 
river's  windings  past  a  quaint  series  of  villas 
and  villages  as  far  as  Padua,  from  which  point, 

165 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

if  time  presses,  the  return  journey  may  be  made 
by  express  train  to  Venice. 

To  the  south  of  Venice  the  Lagoon  stretches 
out  for  many  a  mile,  till  the  extreme  point  is 
reached  at  Brondolo,  just  beyond  Chioggia. 
To  the  east  extends  the  long  reef  of  defence 
against  the  Adriatic,  the  Lido,  the  litorale 
of  Malamocco,  and  that  of  Chioggia,  a  rampart 
broken  in  two  places — at  the  port  of  Mala- 
mocco, and  at  that  of  Chioggia.  Along  the 
western  side  of  this  portion  of  the  Lagoon 
stretches  the  low-lying  coast,  fringed  by  the 
Laguna  Morta,  or  Dead  Lagoon,  with  its 
salt  marshes  and  semi-stagnant  pools.  Islands 
are  dotted  here  and  there  in  this  expanse  of 
protected  water  between  the  Lido  rampart  and 
the  salt  marshes  of  the  Laguna  Morta,  stream- 
ing off  from  the  central  group  which  constitutes 
Venice  proper  in  ever  diminishing  density,  as 
though  they  had  been  flung  athwart  the  lagoon 
by  a  giant  hand.  S.  Servolo  and  La  Grazia, 
comparatively  near  to  the  Giudecca  island  and 
to  S.  Giorgio  Maggiore  ;  S.  Clemente  (the 
manicomio,  or  madhouse),  and  S.  Lazzaro, 
with  the  convent  of  the  genial  and  hospitable 
i66 


z   -J 


X    Z 


The   Lagoon 


Armenian  (Uniat)  Fathers  a  little  further  oft, 
and  then,  in  a  far-scattered  line,  S.  Spirito, 
Poveglia,  and  S.  Pietro  in  Volta.  In  old  days 
practically  all  the  islands  of  the  Lagoon  were 
inhabited,  each  being  the  property  of  a  separate 
conventual  body.  We  may  picture  the  great 
waste  of  waters  dotted  with  little  centres  of 
culture,  praise,  and  intercession.  The  majority 
of  them  have  now  lost  the  main  part  of  their 
buildings ;  the  well-kept  garden  has  disappeared, 
and  the  church  adorned  with  its  treasures,  and 
sometimes  valuable  pictures.  The  islands  them- 
selves remain,  and,  seen  from  a  distance  or  from 
near  by,  with  the  picturesque  outlines  of  the 
buildings  which  adorn  most  of  them,  they  are 
of  immense  value  in  the  landscape,  furnishing  a 
foreground  or  a  middle  distance,  giving  interest 
to  what  would  otherwise  be,  with  all  its  beauty, 
an  unrelieved  expanse  of  watery  flatness,  and 
aiding  the  eye  in  its  instinctive  search  for  a 
guide  to  perspective  in  the  bewildering  vastness 
of  the  Lagoon.  Some  of  them  are  still  well 
worth  a  visit  for  their  intrinsic  interest ;  each 
of  them  adds  something  to  the  indescribable 
charm  of  the  prospect  westward  across  the 
169 


Things  Seen  in   Venice 

shining  waters  towards  the  distant  Euganean 

Hills. 

But  for  most  visitors  the  long  rampart  of  the 

Lido  islands  is  more  conspicuously   attractive 

than  its  attendant  islets.     The  name  "  Lido  "" 

(it  is  simply  the  Latin  litus,  "  coast  "*")  is  more 

especially  applied  to  the  part  of  this  rampart 

that    lies   nearest    to   Venice.     Once  it  was   a 

picturesque 

"...  bare  strand 
Of  hillocks  heaped  from  ever -shifting  sand. 
Matted  with  thistles  and  amphibious  weeds/'  .  .  . 

an  uninhabited  seaside  where  it  was  exhilarat- 
ing to  ride  and  walk.  Now — quantum  mutatus 
ab  illo — it  is  a  fashionable,  commonplace  bathing 
resort,  crammed  in  the  summer  with  bathers 
herded  in  monster  hotels,  or  lodged  in  frightful 
little  mushroom  villas.  These  monstrous 
growths  have  something  of  the  sinister  gaiety 
of  the  fungus  race :  the  villas  are  apt  to  be 
decorated — and  sometimes,  alas !  to  be  con- 
structed— in  the  style  of  the  '•'  New  Art,"  while 
the  bathers  who  inhabit  them  are  dressed 
according  to  the  dernier  cri  of  Rome  and  Paris. 
The  shore,  too  thickly  studded  with  amorphous 
170 


The   Lagoon 

bathing-huts,  is  extremely  ugly — till  the  shades 
of  evening  have  converted  them  all  into  flat 
grey  shadows  seen  against  a  sky  still  bright 
with  the  afterglow  of  sunset.  Nothing,  how- 
ever, can  destroy  the  view  landwards  from  the 
Lido — a  view,  happily,  to  be  enjoyed  from 
many  points,  but  perhaps  best  of  all  (by  a 
strange  irony)  from  the  terrace  of  that  colossus 
of  a  new  hotel  in  which  the  spirit  of  A7't 
Nouveau  is  personified.  In  early  summer  morn- 
ings, or  on  fine  still  evenings,  this  view  over 
Venice  is  of  magical  and  unearthly  loveliness. 

S.  Nicolo  del  Lido  stands  at  the  north  end 
of  this  island,  in  a  truly  delightful  spot,  where 
the  greenest  grass  within  miles  of  Venice  sup- 
plies the  city's  one  great  defect  :  where  "  wide 
green  meadows "'  are  "  bounded  by  a  hedge 
where  the  blackthorn  blossoms,  and  watered 
by  lazy-flowing  watercourses  that  counterfeit 
an  English  stream,"'  while  "  the  path  that  leads 
from  the  meadows  is  flanked  by  poplar  trees, 
and  is  deep  and  cool  as  an  English  lane.""  The 
church  is  dedicated  to  S.  Nicholas  of  Bari,  of 
whom  the  mariners  of  old  Venice  always  craved 
a  blessing  when  they  put  to  sea  and  when  they 
171 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

returned  home,  laden  or  not,  as  the  case  might 
be,  with  the  spoils  of  the  East. 

It  is  still  worth  a  visit,  if  only  for  its 
historical  associations,  but  to  the  English 
pilgi'im  the  military  fortress  has  a  peculiar 
attraction,  if  he  succeeds  in  obtaining  leave  to 
penetrate  within  its  lines.  For  here  are  the 
tombstones  of  a  little  group  of  Englishmen,  not 
very  illustrious  nor  very  obscure  in  themselves, 
but  evoking  a  feeling  of  real  pathos,  by  reason 
of  the  lonely  and  inaccessible  nature  of  their 
resting-place,  from  which  a  determined  effort 
was  made  a  few  years  ago  to  obtain  leave  to 
remove  the  remains,  and  have  them  interred  in 
consecrated  ground  ;Obut  the  combined  efforts 
of  English  and  German  promoters  of  this  move- 
ment (for  there  are  German  tombs  also  at 
S.  Nicolo)  failed  to  penetrate  the  cordon  of 
red  tape,  though  permission  for  a  special  visit 
was  acceded,  on  terms  known  only  to  the 
English  Chaplain  and  the  English  Consul. 
These  foreign  residents  of  a  former  century, 
among  whom  are  Sir  Francis  Vincent,  a  scion  of 
the  House  of  Sackville,  and  a  certain  "  Consul 
Smith,''  to   whom  Windsor  Castle  owes  not  a 

172 


The   Lagoon 


few  of  its  art  treasures,  were  interred  in  un- 
consecrated  ground,  before  a  section  of  the 
present  cemetery  was  set  apart  for  the  burial  of 
Acattolici,  as  the  local  authorities  compactly 
describe  all  believers  in  any  or  no  creed  who 
reject  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Roman  Pontiff. 

Southwards  from  S.  Nicolo,  the  long,  narrow 
island  stretches  past  the  fashionable  bathing 
area  and  the  monster  hotels  into  a  region  of 
solitude  little  altered  from  that  congenial  waste 
in  which  Byron  and  Shelley  rode  together. 
Here  the  keen  pedestrian  may  indeed  stretch 
his  legs.  Splendid  air  and  splendid  views  of 
the  Lagoon  and  distant  Venice,  and  the  still 
more  distant  mountains  on  the  one  side,  and 
the  purple  Adriatic  on  the  other,  lure  him  on 
past  Malamocco  till,  at  the  fort  of  Alberoni,  he 
is  brought  to  a  halt,  where  the  opening  of 
Porto  di  Malamocco  interrupts  the  continuity 
of  the  natural  breakwater,  nearly  halfway  to 
Chioggia. 

Chioggia  itself  he  must  approach  by  steamer, 
and  a  fine  day's  trip  it  is,  bright  with  the 
gorgeous  colouring  of  the  sails  of  the  fishing 
boats,  which  in  high  noon  strive  to  equal  in 

175 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

brilliance  the  sunset-tinted  vapours  in  which 
Venice  will  be  seen  swathed  on  the  return 
journey.  The  call  at  Malamocco  and  Pelles- 
trina,  which  the  boat  makes  on  the  way,  gives 
the  visitor  a  glimpse  and  a  foretaste  of  the 
characteristic  picturesqueness  of  the  ancient 
fishing  port  of  Chioggia — so  memorable  in 
history,  yet  above  all  acceptable  to  the  jaded 
sightseer  to-day  because  he  is  on  hoHday,  and 
means  to  give  himself  for  a  few  hours  at  least 
to  lazy  contemplation  of  outside  things — form 
and  colour  and  human  nature. 

As  one  traverses  the  wide  spaces  of  the 
Lagoon,  the  eye  is  not  so  incessantly  distracted 
towards  swiftly  passing  objects  of  interest ;  it 
has  leisure,  at  last,  to  rest  upon  the  delightful 
and,  indeed,  unique  means  of  transport  which 
will  always  be  inseparably  associated  with  the 
Lagoon  in  the  visitor's  memory. 

The  gondola  is  apt  to  be  "taken  for 
granted '"  after  the  initial  pleasure  and  surprise 
of  introduction.  But  it  merits  study.  In 
the  first  place,  it  is  an  essentially  Venetian 
boat,  the  child  of  the  Lagoon,  gradually  evolved 
in  the  course  of  ages  by  successive  stages,  many 
176 


Copyrii^ht 


II.  C.  irititi-  Co. 


BROXZK    GATKS    OF    TIIK    LOii(.  I K I TA    OF    SA.\SO\IXO^    AT    THE 
FOOT    OF    TIIK    (iUFAT    CAMPANILE. 

The  Loggietta  was  destroyed  with  the  fall  of  the  Campanile,  l)ut  will  he 
reconstructed. 


The   Lagoon 


of  which  can  still  be  traced.  It  is  the  lineal 
descendant  of  the  light  skiff'  which  Cassiodorus, 
secretary  of  Theodoric,  saw  tied  to  the  doors  of 
the  rude  Venetian  dwellings  of  the  early  sixth 
century.  These  skiffs  probably  resemble  most 
nearly  the  little  boat  now  called  harchetta 
and  Mr.  Horatio  Brown,  in  the  volume  already 
referred  to,  has  traced  the  gradual  evolution  of 
the  perfect  gondola  of  to-day  from  this  rudi- 
mentary harchetta  form.  Visitors  to  the 
Accademia  will  observe  in  the  \'enetian  scenes 
by  Bellini  and  Carpaccio  a  middle  stage  in  this 
development  depicted.  The  early  sixteenth- 
century  gondola  resembles  the  modern  one  in 
many  points — but  it  lacks  the  ferro — the 
picturesque  polished  iron  beak  which  gives  it 
much  of  its  swan-like  quality.  The  felze — 
the  little  wooden  house  in  which  the  gondola 
passengers  are  enclosed  when  protection  from 
the  outer  elements  or  from  human  gaze  is 
desired — is  itself  the  outcome  of  a  long  process 
of  evolution.  At  one  time  it  was  made  a  sub- 
ject of  excessive  display,  and  many  sumptuary 
laws  were  passed  to  restrain  the  extravagances 
of  wealthy  citizens.  The  Government  found  it 
179 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

very  difficult  to  enforce  the  regulation  that  every 
felze  was  to  be  covered  only  with  coarse  black 
cloth  ;  but  they  persevered,  only  relaxing  the 
law  in  favour  of  foreign  ambassadors,  with  the 
funereal  result  that  is  visible  in  the  feh:e  of 
to-day.  By  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century  the  gondola  of  contemporary  pictures 
was  like  the  present  one — long,  for  speed,  with 
one  ferro  hatchet- shaped,  and  a  black  felze 
with  door  and  windows. 

Besides  its  metals — iron,  steel,  and  brass — 
sometimes  as  many  as  five  different  kinds  of 
wood  enter  into  the  composition  of  the  gondola 
— walnut,  cherry,  elm,  pine,  and  oak,  not 
counting  the  beechwood  of  the  oars.  And 
every  piece  is  most  carefully  selected  ;  it  must 
be  "  well  seasoned  and  without  knots."  When 
the  boat  is  finished  it  is  a  joy  to  look  upon,  as 
well  as  a  luxury  to  sit  in  ;  but  its  graceful  lines 
are  not  without  a  certain  subtle  want  of  sym- 
metry. Nor  is  this  unsymmetrical  build  the 
product  of  happy-go-lucky  methods  such  as 
seem  to  belong  to  certain  types  of  Italian  work  ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  carefully  and  deliberately 
planned. 

1 80 


-     o 

4    O 


5      rt 


3     -C 


The   Lagoon 


The  boat  is  without  helm  ;  it  is  to  be  guided 
and  propelled  by  a  single  oar,  and  that  in  face 
of  wind  and  tide  ;  it  must  be  ready  to  respond 
to  the  slightest  motion  of  its  oarsman,  to 
advance  in  a  straight  line,  to  negotiate  any 
angle,  to  spin  round,  if  required,  on  its  own 
axis.  It  is  built  with  a  perceptible  list  to  one 
side,  to  balance  the  weight  of  him  who  stands 
on  its  poop,  and  to  counteract  the  bias  of  his 
one  oar's  impetus  it  is  built  with  one  side 
longer  and  more  curved  than  the  other. 

The  result  is  the  Swan  of  the  Lagoon,  the 
most  graceful  and  the  most  comfortable  carriage 
that  can  be  conceived. 


183 


(  H  ATTKU   VI 
KASrS   ANP  FKsrn  A1.8 

1,^AK],Y  in  ihc  u\nc[cv\\\]\  ccuiuvx  a  i;roat 
'^  \  iMiotian  ];ul\  wr(itt^  \\\c  Mov\  oiihc  '*  Foste 
\\MUvinn«.\"  Him-  fnniilv  hnd  ^Mvon  Dugos  to 
tho  l\o|Mihlir,  iuu\  she  h.-ul  hcvu  broil  anioiii; 
\\\c  iH^mps  mul  shows  o\  an  ai;o  wluMi  the  citv, 
(icail  JiuUhhI  at  (ho  heart,  vot  rotaiiioii  tho 
soniblanoos  of  tVi\\h>in.  v'^hi^  wroto  with  snii- 
noss  ;  for  Napoloon  hail  ilosoomlod  upon  \  onioo 
-  an  .\ttila,as  \\c  saui,  for  thi^  (Mii;ai\hv  falsolv 
laholloil  a  Uopuhlii-  ami  tho  am  iont  fostivals 
Irul  (lioil  with  tho  (l0^ornnuM1t  whioh  haJ  oroatoil 
thiMir  ^  c4  '^ho  know  that  hor  ta.^^k  was  no 
tri\iiK>us  pastinu^  nor  piooo  ot'  ilry  antii|narian 
rosoarih  ;  that  a  ^or^otnis  pat  torn  o\  ooronionv 
was  intorwovon  with  tlio  vorv  t'ahi'io  o(  \  onotian 
history,  ami  nnist  hi^  oxaniinoil  bv  ovorv  stuilont. 
Thus  tlu^  word  pii'turos  o(  (iinstina  Uonior 
Mii'hiol  tako  thoir  plaoo  bosido  tho  paint  in^'^ 
1S4 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

in  which  Carpaccio  and  the  Bellini  show  us  the 
paoeantry  of  their  day. 

The  old  order  has  changed.  The  close  union 
between  Church  and  State — a  remarkable  feature 
in  Venetian  history — is  broken,  and  civil  and 
ecclesiastical  authorities  no  longer  conspire  to 
maintain  religion  and  patriotism  by  a  recurrent 
series  of  commemorative  festivals.  Modern 
\'enice,  fi-ee  once  more,  but  with  the  larger 
freedom  of  United  Italy,  closes  her  shops  on 
the  dav  of  the  Statuta  and  on  the  famous 
Venti  Settembre  (September  20)  ;  but  has  not, 
of  course,  resumed  the  festivals  which  pro- 
claimed her  former  independence  ;  while  many 
minor  ecclesiastical  and  parochial  celebrations 
have  been  abolished  or  curtailed,  not  by  the 
civic  authorities,  but  by  the  present  Pope  when 
Patriarch  of  Venice,  on  account  of  the  irreverent 
disorders  they  engendered. 

But  the  Venetians  still  exhibit  the  fusion  of 
two  qualities  often  opposed  in  other  races  and 
individuals — strong,  tender  feeling,  and  a  pas- 
sion for  sumptuous  display.  Therefore  they 
still  remain  a  /t'6'f«-loving  people,  and  even 
now  punctuate  their  calendar  with  observances 

185  H 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

new  and  strange  to  the  Northern  visitor,  and 
apt  to  remain  in  his  memory  as  among  the 
most  interesting  of  the  "  things  seen  in  Venice.'"* 

Let  us  begin  with  a  Christmas  Eve  visit  to 
the  fair  on  the  Rialto  Bridge,  where  booths  are 
erected  for  the  purveyance  of  cheap  dainties, 
cheap  finery,  cheap  articles  of  daily  use — things 
appealing  not  to  the  rich,  who  can  go  to  the 
shops  in  the  Merceria,  but  to  the  poor  who 
may  have  a  few  pence  to  spare  when  the  Christ- 
mas marketing  is  done.  Sometimes  on  these 
stalls  the  writer  has  found  little  pieces  of  Vene- 
tian glass  at  the  lowest  of  prices.  They  have 
some  slight  flaw — a  tiny  moulding  is  chipped, 
a  dragon  or  sea-horse  has  come  out  imperfect 
from  the  fire,  or  a  vase,  exquisite  in  shape,  does 
not  hold  water — so,  after  brief  bargaining,  they 
may  be  bought  for  a  quarter  of  the  usual  retail 
price. 

Lower  down  in  the  market  there  is  abundance 
of  provisions  and  a  gay  throng  of  buyers.  The 
stalls  where  geese,  turkeys,  and  capons  are  sold 
are  scenes  of  lively,  characteristic  bargaining. 
Flowers  from  the  Riviera  are  plentiful,  and  little 
i86 


1-.    -r'-^^f 


ii  I 


^  '^ 


m 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

Christmas-trees  are  attracting  the  attention  of 
many  a  paterfamilias.  In  the  early  morning 
hours  the  vendors  of  fish  do  a  roaring  trade, 
for  Christmas  Eve  is  a  vigil  strictly  observed, 
and  by  midday  the  Fishmarket  is  ahiiost  de- 
pleted. 

Towards  six  in  the  evening  the  human  tide 
sets  towards  St.  Mark's,  for  there,  by  a  unique 
use,  the  first  Mass  of  Christmas  Day  is  celebrated 
about  half-past  six  on  Christmas  Eve.*  I  say 
advisedly  ahout^  for  in  Venice  a  great  vagueness 
prevails  as  to  the  time  of  any  function,  and 
a  given  hour  is  customarily  announced  with  a 
qualifying  circa  ("about"). 

This  Christmas  Mass  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  services  of  the  year.  The  sole  light- 
ing of  the  nave  is  the  soft  radiance  streaming 
from  a  great  suspended  cross  of  beaten  iron, 
the  frame  of  which  supports  vast  numbers  of 
primitive  lamps — mere  glasses  filled  with  oil  in 

*  Doubtless  this  use  dates  from  an  ancient  nietliod 
of  beginning?  the  day  at  the  liour  of  tlie  evening  Ave 
Maria.  Half- past  six  on  Christmas  Kve  wouhl,  by  tliis 
reckoning,  be  the  first  hour  of  Cliristmas  Day.  The 
^'enetians  continued  to  use  this  style  of  counting  till 
tlie  Napoleonic  Conquest. 

189 


Things  Seen  in   Venice 

which  are  floats  and  wicks  ;  but  the  High-Altar 
is  ablaze  with  candles,  and  gleaming  with  the 
solid  gold  of  the  Pala  d'  Oro. 

The  body  of  the  church  is  packed  with 
standing  worshippers  of  every  age  and  class. 
Privileged  persons  and  early  comers  find  seats 
in  the  chancel  facing  the  altar.  The  choir- 
stalls  are  filled  with  the  Canons  of  St.  Mark's 
in  their  ermine  tippets.  The  Patriarch  is  the 
celebrant.  Then  from  somewhere  on  high  in 
the  dim  vault  of  the  dome  comes  an  outburst 
of  song — the  thrilling,  imperative  summons  of 
the  "  Adeste  Fideles."  The  music  usually  heard 
in  St.  Mark's  is  not  very  remarkable,  and  Vene- 
tian voices,  affected  doubtless  by  sea-mists  and 
northerly  winds,  have  a  very  different  timbre 
from  the  liquid,  sonorous  tones  of  Southern 
throats ;  but  the  disposition  of  the  singers  in 
a  gallery  to  the  left  above  the  chancel,  entirely 
hidden  from  the  nave,  joined  with  the  mar- 
vellous effects  of  light  and  colour  in  the  wonder- 
ful building,  produce  an  indescribable  impression 
upon  the  worshipper  on  Christmas  Eve. 

The  function  ended,  the  Venetian  begins  to 
greet  his  acquaintance  long  before  he  leaves  the 
190 


S       v. 


5   M 


X       O 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

church.  Then  he  probably  takes  a  turn  or  two 
in  the  Piazza,  after  which  he  goes  home  to  sup 
on  a  tfiaigTe  soup,  a  httle  fish,  a  vegetable,  some 
mosfarcia,  and  some  almond  nougat.  These 
latter  are  his  mince-pies  and  plum-pudding, 
the  distinctive  plats  of  the  Christmas  season. 
Mostarda  is  a  delicious  apple  sauce,  sometimes 
mixed  with  candied  fruits,  and  always  flavoured 
with  warm  and  pungent  spices ;  the  nougat  is 
made  with  honey,  and  is  rather  nauseating  in 
its  sweetness. 

Once  upon  a  time  the  Venetians  went  a-mask- 
ing  whenever  they  chose  throughout  the  period 
of  carnival — i.e.^  from  Epiphany  to  Ash  A\'^ed- 
nesday.  A  scrap  of  white  satin  or  black  velvet 
on  the  face,  with  a  black  hood  over  head  and 
shoulders,  abolished  all  social  convenances^  all 
class  distinctions,  and  the  mask  was  generally 
held  to  be  "  the  finest  commodity  in  the  world."* 
Now,  save  for  sporadic  bands  of  children  sport- 
ing on  Sunday  in  the  Piazza,  "  Sior  Maschera^ 
rarely  shows  himself  before  Shrove  Tuesday. 
That  evening  all  \'enice  is  abroad  ;  a  band 
plays,  and  there  is  often  dancing  on  the  Piazza. 
The  crowd  is  wonderfully  good-tempered,  quiet, 
193 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

and  decorous.  Two  or  three  ladies  together 
can  walk  about  in  mask  and  domino  without 
the  slightest  risk  of  annoyance,  and  not  a  few 
do  so,  seeking  out  their  friends,  speaking  in 
squeaky,  assumed  voices,  and  showing  as  much 
acquaintance  as  possible  with  their  victims' 
little  weaknesses.  Supper  parties  are  held  in 
the  restaurants  ;  friends  meet  and  smoke  in 
the  cafes  on  the  Piazza,  and  about  eleven  the 
veglione  begins  at  one  of  the  theatres.  Venetian 
ladies  do  not  as  a  rule  attend  this  masked  ball, 
unless  perhaps  a  party  is  made  up  for  a  "  spree," 
and  then  they  are  spectators  rather  than  dancers. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Cavalchina — the  hal 
masque  held  at  the  Fenice  (the  Venetian  Opera 
House)  on  one  of  the  last  nights  of  carnival — 
is  always  under  patrician  patronage.  It  is  for 
heneficenza^  the  proceeds  being  divided  among 
the  principal  charitable  institutions  of  the  city. 
Individuals  and  trading  companies  offer  prizes 
for  the  best  costumes  ;  the  owners  of  boxes 
relinquish  their  rights  in  them  for  the  night, 
and  they  are  re-sold  for  fancy  prices  by  the 
managing  committee.  The  spectacle  as  viewed 
from  the  boxes  is  very  diverting,  though  greatly 
194 


TWO  Vf)TIVE  CHLRCHES 


H.  C.  Ifhitc  Co. 
SEEX  FRO.M   THE  TOP  OF  THE  (  A3JPANILE 


In  the  middle  distance,  S.  Maria  della  Salute;  facing  it,  on  the  distant 
Giudecca,  the  "  Redentore.'  A  bridge  of  boats  unites  these  two  churches 
on  the  Feast  of  the  Redentore. 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

marred  by  the  licence  allowed  to  male  dancers 
to  appear  in  ugly  modern  morning  dress — not 
even  \\\  frac  —  and  to  walk  about  in  bowler 
hats.  Such  a  false  note  in  the  spectacle  jars 
the  more  because  of  the  dainty  loveliness  of  the 
background.  The  Fenice  cannot  compare  in 
size  or  magnificence  with  the  Seal  a  at  Milan,  or 
S.  Carlo  at  Naples,  but  its  unaltered  eighteenth- 
century  decorations  give  it  a  peculiar  cachet  of 
its  own.  Even  on  an  ordinary  opera  night  one 
feels  that  powdered  heads  and  patched  faces 
ought  to  look  forth  from  the  boxes,  and  that 
when  a  door  opens  at  the  back  to  admit  a 
visitor,  one  should  catch  a  glimpse  of  periwig, 
cocked  hat,  and  sword.  During  the  carnival 
of  1907  one  was  able  to  realize  the  aspect  of 
the  house  in  the  davs  of  its  glory,  for,  as  part 
of  the  celebration  of  the  Goldoni  Bicentenary, 
it  was  decided  that  fancy  dresses  at  the  Caval- 
china  should  all  be  of  the  Goldoni  period,  and 
that  even  non-dancers  should  appear  poudrees. 

Dancers  with  a  box  use  it  as  a  sort  of  private 
sitting-out    room,   into   which,    however,   their 
masked  acquaintance  are  apt  to  intrude.     Some- 
times the  visitor  uses  his  disguise  to  pay  off  old 
197 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

scores,  or  as  a  long-sought  means  of  love-making ; 
sometimes  he  is  recognized  amid  a  chorus  of 
derisive  laughter ;  sometimes  he  leaves  his  friends 
intrigues  and  embarrassed.  And  always  there 
is  an  atmosphere  of  piquant  unreality,  of  utter' 
irresponsibility,  and  one  experiences  again  the 
forgotten  sensations  of  childhood,  when  it  was 
"such  fun  to  dress  up  and  pretend."' 

On  Giovedi  Grasso,  the  Thursday  before 
Lent,  a  Pesca  di  Beneficenza  is  held  in  the 
Piazza — that  is  to  say,  there  is  a  sort  of  lottery 
with  prizes  given  by  various  shops  and  public- 
spirited  individuals.  The  proceeds  from  the 
sale  of  tickets  are  divided  among  the  various 
charitable  institutions.  The  "  fish  ""  caught  are 
of  the  most  diverse  species.  Bottles  of  wine, 
wooden  spoons,  and  small  cooking  utensils  have 
been  won  by  the  writer,  who  fortunately  never 
became  the  embarrassed  possessor  of  a  cow — 
sometimes  the  highest  prize  of  the  pesca. 

A  curious  modern  custom,  somewhat  at 
variance  with  the  spirit  of  the  day,  is  the  per- 
formance of  the  band  on  the  Zattere  during 
the  afternoon  of  Ash  Wednesday.  It  is  essen- 
tially a  promenade  of  the  people  :  one  sees 
198 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

whole  families — father,  mother,  children,  and 
children's  nurse  —  walking  up  and  down  on 
this  sunny,  sheltered  foruhnncnta^  enjoying  the 
music  and  watching  the  shipping ;  while  other 
listening  figures,  less  prosperous  and  more 
picturesque,  sprawl  contented  on  the  steps  of 
palaces  and  churches. 

The  washing  of  the  feet  of  certain  beggars 
by  the  Patriarch  in  St.  Mark's  is  an  interesting 
ceremony  on  the  morning  of  Giovedi  Santo 
(Maundy  Thursday) ;  but  a  far  more  impres- 
sive service  is  the  Te?iebrae,  followed  by  the 
Miserere  and  a  procession  with  the  rehcs. 
Again,  as  on  Christmas  Eve,  the  nave  is  softly 
lit  by  the  suspended  cross  of  oil  lamps  ;  but 
now  the  chancel  is  in  gloom  and  blackness,  and 
as  the  solemn  chanting  continues,  the  only 
points  of  light,  the  tall  white  altar- candles,  are 
extinguished  one  by  one.  At  last  out  of  the 
gloom  comes  a  strain  of  passionate  contrition, 
and  the  tension  of  mourning  breaks  like  a  sob 
in  the  appeal  of  the  Miserere.  Then  a  pro- 
cession, sombre  and  purple,  winds  through  the 
church  and  back  towards  the  pulpit  to  the 
right  of  the  choir,  from  which  the  Patriarch, 
199 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

after  the  relics   have  been   solemnly  exposed, 
blesses  the  kneeling  worshippers. 

The  procession  of  Corpus  Domini  in  modern 
Venice  cannot  compare  either  with  its  former 
self,  or  with  similar  processions  in  other  parts 
of  Italy,  notably  in  Bologna.  Its  route  is 
curtailed  as  much  as  possible,  and  it  barely 
appears  outside  the  walls  of  St.  Mark's.  We 
must  stand  before  the  picture  of  Gentile  Bellini 
in  the  Accademia  to  realize  its  sometime  glory 
as  it  traversed  the  Piazza  in  the  golden  June 
sunshine. 

More  characteristic  is  the  simple  Corpus 
Domini  procession  at  Murano,  repeated  on  the 
following  Sunday ;  while  that  at  Burano,  rarely 
witnessed  by  foreigners,  is  yet  more  primitive 
and  spontaneous.  It  takes  place  late  in  the 
afternoon,  for  these  poor  fisherfolk  cannot  afford 
to  keep  holiday  at  an  early  hour ;  it  makes  the 
tour  of  the  island,  and  it  is  composed  of  almost 
the  entire  population. 

They  are  a  iine  race,  these  "  Buranei  "  and 

'*  Buranelle,''  and   the  children  are  delightful. 

The  trappings  of  the  show  may  be  worn  and 

tawdry,  child-angels  may  be  vested  in  coarse  lace 

200 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

curtains,  and  the  little  St.  John  Baptist  wear 
a  mangy  sheepskin  ;  but  the  grace  of  childhood 
and  the  sweet  dignity  of  adoring  motherhood 
are  as  the  old  Venetian  painters  saw  and  fixed 
them  in  picture  after  picture  of  the  Madonna 
and  Child,  and  worshipping  jmttini.  And 
always  the  atmosphere  of  the  Lagoons  plays  its 
tricks  of  transformation,  so  that  the  procession 
filing  across  a  bridge,  or  spreading  itself  into  a 
group  about  a  temporary  altar  on  the  line  of 
route,  becomes  a  picture  never  to  be  forgotten. 

One  of  the  very  few  processions  now  allowed 
to  traverse  the  streets  of  Venice  takes  place  on 
June  13,  the  day  of  S.  Antonio.  It  forms  in 
the  Piazza  about  ten  a.m.,  and  is  composed  not 
only  of  the  patriarchal  canons  and  functionaries 
of  S.  Marco,  but  also  of  the  parochial  clergy, 
each  wearing  a  different  coloured  stole,  which 
gives  the  procession  a  curious  striped  effect.  It 
passes  to  the  church  of  the  Salute,  across  a 
bridge  of  boats  thrown  over  the  Grand  Canal, 
and  appears,  seen  from  the  surrounding  windows, 
as  a  streak  of  glowing  colour  with  banners 
fluttering  in  the  sea-breeze. 

Once  again  in  the  year  is  the  Salute  ap- 
203 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

proached  by  a  pontoon,  and  visited  in  state  by 
the  Patriarch,  the  Canons  of  St.  Mark's,  and 
al]  the  parocchi  of  Venice. 

In  1631  the  plague,  which  had  raged  for 
sixteen  months  in  A'enice  and  the  adjacent 
islands,  was  suddenly  arrested  ;  whereupon  the 
Doge,  Council,  Senate,  nobles,  and  clergy  went 
in  solemn  procession  from  St.  Mark's  to  a 
wooden  church  hastily  erected  on  a  piece  of 
land  given  to  the  Republic  by  the  Knights 
Templars,  and  there  offered  the  city's  solemn 
thanks  given  to  "  Mary  the  Mother  of  Health."" 
In  due  time  Baldassare  Longhena,  who  ob- 
tained the  order  by  open  competition,  erected 
the  structure  so  audacious,  yet  so  strangely 
graceful,  which  delights  our  eyes  as  we  enter 
the  Grand  Canal.  And  year  by  year,  on 
November  21,  Venice  renews  its  thanksgiving, 
and  implores  the  continued  protection  to  the 
"Madonna  della  Salute.''  Most  Venetians — 
even  those  not  "  practising  "  {7i07i  pratticanti) — 
as  a  rule,  visit  the  church  that  day  ;  and  very 
early  in  the  morning  dwellers  in  its  vicinity  are 
awakened  by  the  tramp,  tramp  of  feet  on  the 
wooden  structure  of  the  bridge.  At  the  church 
204 


■  yr  I! 


Photo  i^.Ulame.  S/.  Mcntz 

A    SIDIX  ANAI-. 

Characteristic  glimpse,  showing  a  bnrca  rowed  by  two  men. 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

door  the  devout  purchase  tapers,  light  them, 
and  pass  them  over  the  sanctuary  rails  to  the 
sacristan,  till  the  figure  of  the  Madonna  above 
the  High-Altar  is  illuminated  with  thousands  of 
flickering  candles.  His  candle  delivered  and 
his  prayer  said,  the  average  Venetian  pays  little 
further  heed  to  the  Low  or  High  Mass  at 
which  he  is  nominally  assisting.  Presently  he 
will  move  towards  the  door,  and  inspect  the 
booths  erected  in  the  big  open  space  round 
the  church,  where  are  sold  rosaries  and  little 
statuettes  of  saints  and  pictures  of  the  Madonna, 
as  well  as  more  mundane  goods,  such  as  galetti 
made  of  flour,  lard,  and  white  of  egg,  candied 
fruits  strung  on  straws,  and  other  cheap 
dainties. 

The  gondoliers  of  the  traghetto  of  S.  Gregorio 
receive  three  francs  apiece  for  the  day  as  com- 
pensation for  the  loss  suffered  by  them  by  the 
making  of  a  footway  across  the  Canalazzo. 

'I'hree  times  in  the  year  is  the  canal  thus 
bridged  :  on  June  13,  November  ^1,  and  the 
third  Sunday  in  July.  On  this  last  occasion, 
however,  the  bridge  to  the  Salute  is  merely  an 
avenue  to  the  far  longer  pontoon  stretched 
207 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

across  the  wide  canal  of  the  Giudecca  to  the 
church  of  the  Redentore.  This  is  another 
votive  church,  built  to  commemorate  the  cessa- 
tion of  another  plague. 

The  J'esta,  from  1577  to  the  present  day, 
has  been  an  immensely  popular  one.  The 
evening  of  the  Redentore  is  talked  about  and 
saved  for  months  beforehand ;  there  are  few 
families  that  do  not  manage  to  hire  a  boat, 
provide  a  supper,  and  spend  the  evening  on  the 
water.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  them  seated  round 
a  table  placed  in  some  large  old  bu?ra,  adorned 
with  lanterns  and  green  boughs,  eating  a  frugal 
meal  and  prolonging  the  enjoyment  of  their 
red  wine. 

The  crowd  of  boats  of  all  descriptions  is 
extraordinary  and  rather  alarming.  It  is  wise 
to  take  two  gondoliers,  and  wonderful  to  watch 
the  dexterity  with  which  they  steer  their  course 
and  avoid  accidents.  Everyone  is  "  on  pleasure 
bent,"  and  infectious,  and,  on  the  whole,  harm- 
less, hilarity  prevails.  A  band  plays  on  the 
Giudecca,  and  fireworks — always  entrancing  in 
\'enice — are  let  off'  at  midnight.  Then,  if  the 
night  is  fine,  the  Venetian  rows  out  to  the 
208 


H.  c.  //  httt  L( 


A     W  KIJ.-ilKAI). 


From  these  well>.  filled  from  water-boats,  Venice  used  to  be  served  witli 
water.     To  the  right  is  the  famous  statue  of  CoUeoni. 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

Lido,  where  he  greets  the  rising  sun,  and  dips 
in  the  cool,  sun-kissed  waves. 

A  preceding  chapter  has  dealt  with  the 
regattas,  State  entries,  ilhiminations,  and 
serenatas,  of  which  the  Canalazzo  is  the  scene. 
But  another  sort  of  procession  may  sometimes 
be  seen  crossing  it  to  cut  into  one  or  other  of 
the  canals  which  run  eastward  towards  the 
Fondamente  Nuove. 

None  of  the  new  and  strange  "things  seen 
in  Venice''  have  ever  impressed  me  with  this 
city"s  unlikeness  to  the  mainland  so  much  as 
the  spectacle  of  one  of  these  funerals  streaming 
out  towards  the  island  of  S.  Michele,  where  the 
dead  are  laid  to  rest  in  the  black  ooze. 

Whereas  in  other  places  the  hearse  is  melan- 
choly, and  the  attendant  carriages  have  little 
about  them  distinctively  funereal,  in  \'enice  it 
is  the  long  train  of  gondolas  with  their  black 
fi'hi\  rowed  by  gondoliers  in  black  scarves  and 
sashes,  which  sounds  the  note  of  mourning, 
while  the  barcjue  bearing  the  coHin,  which  is 
often  heaped  with  flowers,  seems  to  bound  for- 
ward almost  with  an  air  of  triumph.  There 
are  three  grades  of  funerals  at  corresponding 

211 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

prices,  and  one  could  wish  that  the  first-class 
barque  were  not  adorned  with  a  golden  Lion  of 
St.  Mark  weeping  into  a  golden  handkerchief. 
Still,  if  the  decoration  is  ridiculous,  it  is  not 
lugubrious,  and  the  passage  over  the  breezy 
space  of  the  Lagoon  in  brilliant  sunshine,  or  on 
one  of  these  grey  languid  days  when  rest  seems 
the  summum  bonum  of  human  life,  conveys 
suggestions  and  impressions  far  diil'erent  from 
those  provoked  by  the  slow  progress  to  an 
English  cemetery. 

But  the  time  intervening  between  a  death 
and  an  interment  in  Venice  is  peculiarly  trying 
to  the  relatives  of  the  deceased,  especially  if 
they  chance  to  be  strangers  in  the  land.  Never 
does  the  red  tape  of  Italian  bureaucracy  appear 
more  knotted  and  obnoxious.  Sordid  anxieties 
and  irritations  start  up  at  every  turn,  and  all 
kinds  of  official  obstacles  hinder  the  accom- 
plishment of  formalities  which  yet  may  not  be 
omitted  without  incurring  legal  penalties. 

Once  a  year — on  November  2 — the  space  of 
water  which,  like  a  sanitary  cordon,  parts  the 
living  from  the  dead,  is  spanned  by  a  bridge  of 
boats  similar  to  that  which  in  high  summer 

212 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

was  constructed  over  the  channel  of  the 
Giudecca.  All  Venice  streams  across  it,  for 
few  there  are  who  have  no  relatives  or  friends 
in  S.  Michele,  and  none  who  would  leave  them 
unvisited  on  the  day  dedicated  to  the  departed. 
As  one  nears  the  Fondamente  Nuove,  a  dull 
beating  sound  meets  the  ear,  persistent  as  a 
torrent,  but  harsher  and  more  imtating  ;  and 
when  one  emerges  before  the  open  space  of  the 
Lagoon  its  cause  is  manifest :  it  is  the  sound  of 
hundreds  of  thickly-shod  feet  upon  the  planks — 
the  march  of  the  living  to  the  dead. 

Near  the  entrance  to  the  bridge  are  booths 
where  flowers  and  tapers  may  be  purchased,  and 
where  little  meringue-like  biscuits  called  fave 
are  sold.  They  are  variously  flavoured  and 
gaily  coloured,  and  are  the  confectioner's  substi- 
tute for  the  true  beans  which  should  be  eaten 
by  every  devout  Venetian  during  the  period  of 
his  Lemur la. 

The  bridge  is  divided — half  for  those  who  go, 
half  for  those  who  return.  It  almost  makes  one 
dizzy  to  watch  the  two  black  streams  flowing  in 
opposite  directions.  Few  of  the  people  make 
the  pilgrimage  by  water,  though  now  and  then 
213  I 


Things  Seen   in  Venice 

I  have  seen  a  heavy  boat-load  of  black -shawled 
women,  rowed,  perhaps,  by  a  couple  of  lads. 
Those  who  go  by  gondola  must  steer  for  the 
church  that  rises  white  against  the  black  smoke 
of  the  Murano  furnaces,  and  must  alight  at  the 
steps  near  the  steamer  pontoon,  and  rejoin 
their  boat  at  the  landing-stage  hard  by  the 
temporary  bridge.  This  is  the  order  of  the 
day,  and  is  strictly  enforced. 

After  glancing  in  at  the  dark  church,  where 
litanies  are  being  chaunted  round  a  black - 
draped  catafalque,  one  traverses  the  cemetery — 
so  different  from  an  English  burial-ground — 
with  its  cloisters  and  open  squares,  filled 
now  with  a  quiet  crowd,  every  unit  of  which 
seeks  the  resting-place  of  some  loved  one.  Out 
of  blurred  impressions  of  Giorni  dei  Mor'ti 
spent^  in  Venice,  comes  back  the  vivid  recollec- 
tion ;of  two  little  lads  struggling  up  a  bank 
withj  a  wreath  of  pink  chrysanthemums  bigger 
than  themselves.  I  gave  them  a  helping  hand, 
and  they  told  me  that  mother  was  ill  and  had 
sent  them  to  lay  the  wreath  on  father's  grave. 
They  were  poorly  dressed,  and  looked  under- 
fed, and  I  wondered  what  the  flowers  had  cost. 
214 


CANAL    OF    S.    TKOVASO^    A    FA VO I  RITE    POINT    FOR    ARTISTS. 

This  photograph  is  taken  in  summer,  the  other  (on  p.  140)  in  winter. 


Fasts  and   Festivals 

There  remains  with  me  also  as  an  indelible 
picture  the  figure  of  a  young  woman  with  the 
rare  Titian  red  hair,  kneeling  in  the  children's 
portion  to  the  cemetery  beside  a  little  grave. 
She  held  an  infant  in  her  arms,  and  clutched  it 
to  her  heart  with  streaming  eyes^  as  who  should 
say  :  "  I  will  not  let  this  one  go  !" 

It  had  been  a  soft  but  sunless  day,  and  now 
the  liojht  was  wanino;  and  the  breeze  freshening:  : 
I  saw  her  bent,  black-shawled  figure  silhouetted 
against  a  saffron  streak  which  separated  the 
steel-grey  of  the  water  from  the  pearl-grev  of 
the  sky.  And  all  about  her  were  the  pale, 
flickering  flames  of  tapers  burning  on  the 
graves — fit  emblems  of  the  frailty  of  human 
lives. 


217 


CHAPTER   VII 
VARIA 

THE  soul  of  a  city !  How  distinctly  it 
manifests  itself  to  our  spirit  and  our  senses, 
yet  how  difficult  it  is  to  convey  an  impres- 
sion  of  its  intangible,  impalpable  essence  !  If  we 
were  set  down  asleep  in  a  street  in  Rome,  Florence, 
Boloffna,  Milan,  we  should  know  to  which  city 
we  had  been  transplanted  before  our  eyes  had 
been  opened  five  minutes ;  but  if  we  were 
spirited  to  Venice,  we  should  know  it,  I  think, 
before  we  were  well  awake.  Those  who  live 
long  there  even  feel  a  subtle  difference  between 
the  different  sesticri  of  the  city.  The  stream 
of  passengers  across  a  bridge — they  always  seem 
like  walking  figures  on  a  stage — the  gestures  of 
loiterers  by  a  fruit-stall,  the  physiognomy  of 
young  mothers  with  infants  in  their  arms,  or 
of  children  playing  in  seemingly  dangerous 
proximity  to  a  canal,  the  arrangement,  even  the 
218 


Varia 

odour,  of  the  shops  are  not  quite  the  same  in 
Cannareggio  as  in  Dorsoduro,  in  S.  Polo  as  in 
Castello. 

Every  campo  has  its  own  group  of  shops 
within  it,  or  in  an  adjacent caZ/t',  which  suppHes 
the  neighbourhood  with  all  the  necessaries  of 
life.  And  first,  as  a  social  centre,  a  place 
where  a  coterie  of  intimates  drop  in  and  talk, 
and  glance  through  the  halfpenny  paper  of  the 
day,  is  the  farmacia,  the  chemist's.*  It  is 
usually  a  decidedly  attractive  place,  neat  and 
bare,  with  its  few  patent  medicines  locked  away 
in  cupboards,  and  its  shelves  decorated  with 
long  rows  of  lovely  faience  jars,  some  of  them 
plain  blue  and  white,  others  decorated  in  deli- 
cate coloured  designs.  They  are  more  artistic 
symbols  of  the  trade  than  Rosamond's  Purple 
Jar,  and  are — or  were — useful  as  well  as  orna- 

*  Two  or  three  points  about  Italian  dispensinj^  are 
worth  noting.  No  patent  medicine  may  be  sold  unless 
its  ingredients  are  published  on  tlie  cover.  To  every 
preparation  sent  out  a  label  must  be  fixed  on  which 
the  physician's  prescription  is  transcribed.  Powders 
are  taken  in  wafers  (cialdi),  easily  swallowed  when 
wetted.  The  taste  of  the  medicament  is  disiruised,  and 
it  is  more  easily  assimilated  and  clieaply  dispensed  than 
in  pill  or  tabloid  form. 

221 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

mental.  Nowadays,  however,  they  are  apt  to 
stand  empty  ;  partly  because  they  are  too  valu- 
able for  daily  handling — collectors  give  high 
prices  for  them  when  they  come  into  the 
market ;  partly  because  Dame  Fashion  con- 
trives to  rule  the  physician  almost  as  much  as 
the  dressmaker,  and  the  drugs  which  cured  our 
forefathers  are  now  demodes.  Thus  the  jar 
bearing  as  part  of  its  design  the  name  triaca 
must  needs  remain  unfilled,  though  the  city 
was  once  famous  for  this  compound,  manu- 
factured publicly,  on  a  fixed  day  in  the  year, 
with  extraordinary  solemnities.  We  havp  it  on 
Bacon's  authority  that  ''  Venice  Treacle  *"  was 
one  of  the  few  medicaments  of  his  time  which 
was  mixed  according  to  established  and  unvary- 
ing formulae. 

The  inexperienced  foreigner  is  apt  to  think 
that  the  word  drogher'ia  painted  over  a  shop 
is  a  synonym  for  chemist ;  but  if,  instead, 
he  see  the  word  spezier,  or  spezieri  —  and 
there  are  not  a  few  call'i  in  Venice  called  "  Del 
Spezier'' — he  will  easily  realize  its  identity  with 
the  French  epicier.  Originally,  indeed,  the 
chemists    (^farmacisti)    and    the    droghieri,   or 

222 


stereo  Copyright 


i'n{ie}~7iood  &■  i' 


THE    RIALTO. 

The  neighbourhood  of  V'enice's  best  and  cheapest  markets. 


Varia 

spezieri^  represented  two  branches  of  the  same 
trade,  and  formed  a  single  confraternity.  But 
while  the  former  were  scattered  over  the  city, 
the  dealers  in  spices  and  olive-oil,  and  manu- 
facturers and  retailers  of  sugar  and  candles, 
abode  chiefly  in  the  street  between  the  Church 
of  S.  Salvatore  and  the  Rialto  Bridge,  called 
after  them  "Spezieria";  and  gradually  the 
farmacisti  and  speziei'i  drew  apart  and  formed 
two  separate  guilds. 

Retail  trade  to-day  tends  towards  concentra- 
tion rather  than  towards  differentiation  ;  but  in 
V^enice,  which  lags  behind  the  hurrying  world 
beyond  the  lagoons,  old  trade  divisions  are 
maintained.  Only  in  the  vicinity  of  St.  Mark's 
is  anything  found  approaching  to  the  modern 
comprehensive  grocery  store ;  and  the  con- 
fectioner, baker,  and  maker  of  pasta  are  three 
distinct  entities. 

The  baker  produces  a  pleasing  variety  of 
bread.  There  is  bread  made  with  milk  and 
with  oil  (in  dialect  col  og'io) ;  there  are  long 
loaves  of  coarse  texture  and  "  standard ""  hue ; 
little  breads  known  as  husolai  or  jmne 
veiieziano^  twisted  into  odd  hard  shapes, 
225 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

powdery  in  texture,  white,  hard,  and  unnourish- 
ing,  yet  somehow  very  pleasant  to  soak  in  soup 
or  coffee.  And  in  the  better-class  shops  there 
is  pane  francese,  made  into  the  usual  French 
shapes  of  roll  and  crescent ;  and  the  long,  hard 
sticks  so  nice  to  nibble  between  the  courses  of 
luncheon  or  dinner  which  are  called  gressm'i, 
and  are  the  invention  of  the  bakers  of  Turin. 

The  antiquity  dealers  and  their  wares  are 
great  features  of  Venice.  They  are  of  various 
grades  and  pretensions,  and  the  best  "  finds  "" 
may  often  be  made  in  the  abodes  of  the 
humblest ;  though  the  obscure  man,  having  no 
particular  reputation  to  lose,  must  be  handled 
with  caution.  Of  course  the  demand  for  genuine 
antiques  far  exceeds  the  supply,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, imitation  has  become  a  fine  art.  More- 
over, really  old  pieces  of  furniture  are  apt  to  be 
exceedingly  rough  compared  with  French  and 
English  work  of  the  same  date ;  partly,  perhaps, 
because  the  best  specimens  of  the  cabinet- 
maker's craft  remain  in  the  palaces  for  which 
they  were  made,  or  have  long  since  been  taken 
out  of  Italy. 

Further,  what  looks  magnificent  in  the  large 
226 


Varia 

spaces  of  an  Italian  palazzo.  in  sunlight  glancing 
off  the  water,  and  broken  and  reflected  by  marble 
architraves,  gilded  beams  and  clouded  Vene- 
tian mirrors,  has  quite  a  different  effect  in  a 
moderate-sized  English  drawing-room  beside 
Chippendale  and  flowered  chintz.  The  rococo 
gilded  consoles  and  settees,  and  the  painted 
cabinets  and  commodes,  with  their  delicate 
landscapes  and  gay  figures  and  flowers,  are  par- 
ticularly ill  adapted  for  transplantation  to 
Northern  climes.  I  once  heard  of  an  English 
painter  who,  revelling  in  the  glorious  colour 
and  (juaint  designs  of  the  sails  of  Venetian  fish- 
ing-smacks, took  pains  to  purchase  one  and  have 
it  sent  to  London.  He  hung  it  up  on  the  wall 
of  his  studio  ;  he  found  it  dead,  colourless,  and 
uninteresting. 

This  is  a  story  with  a  moral  for  those  who 
would  take  home  curios  from  Venice.  It  must 
be  owned,  however,  that  to  wander  through  an 
antiquario's  room,  and  examine  and  appraise  its 
contents,  is  a  fascinating  pursuit  for  a  wet  day, 
but  the  inexperienced  traveller  would  do  well 
to  secure  the  company  of  an  Italian  friend.  At 
all  events,  he  should  never  trust  to  the  chartered 
227 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

recommendation  of  his  gondolier,  or  be  induced 
to  pay  half  the  price  of  goods  which  are  to  be 
shipped  home.  A  small  sum  may  justly  be 
demanded  as  caparra^  or  earnest-money — an 
evidence  of  good  faith  ;  the  price  of  any  big 
purchase  might  be  left  with  the  English  Consul 
or  with  a  respectable  hotel-keeper,  to  be  de- 
livered as  soon  as  notice  is  received  of  the 
arrival  of  the  goods  in  England. 

Even  the  smartest  milliners,  dressmakers,  and 
haberdashers  trade  under  conditions  which  seem 
curiously  difficult  measured  by  modern  stand- 
ards of  commercial  comfort.  Other  cities  have 
advanced,  Venice  is  unchanged.  To  Evelyn 
and  other  travellers  of  bygone  days  the  Mer- 
ceria  seemed  one  of  the  gayest  and  sweetest 
streets  in  the  world.  The  twentieth-century 
visitor  admires  its  picturesque  windings,  but 
finds  its  shops  irritatingly  dark  and  incommo- 
dious, and  certainly  does  not  praise  it  for  being 
"exceedingly  cleane,  and  pav'd  with  brick." 
Yet  we  can  well  believe  that  seventeenth-century 
Venice  must  have  been  extraordinarily  agreeable 
and  sanitary  compared  with  other  cities  of  the 
epoch,  since  no  animals  wandered  about  the 
228 


A    SIDE-CANAL^     ONE    OF    VEXK  E  S    NAKK(»\VEST    WATEKWAV.' 

Observe  the  elaborate  wroiight-iron  work  to  ihe  left. 


Varia 

streets,  and  refuse,  instead  of  lying  festering 
outside  the  houses,  was  thi'own  into  the  canals, 
and  twice  a  day  carried  by  the  tide  out  to  sea. 

There  is  one  advantage  about  Venetian  shops : 
they  have  no  sales  !  A  few  articles  may  be 
marked  Occas'ione,  or  a  departing  tradesman  will 
put  the  placard  Liqucdazionc  in  his  windows ;  but 
the  feverish  excitement  of  London  in  January 
and  June  would  accord  ill  with  the  Venetian 
temperament.  Great  frugality  in  the  matter  of 
paper  and  cartons  is  practised.  Newspaper  is 
largely  used  for  making  parcels,  and  the  little 
girls — they  generally  come  in  couples — who 
bring  home  a  hat  are  instructed  to  wait  in  the 
hall  for  the  box.  A  first-rate  dressmaker  sends 
a  delicate  gown  enveloped,  not  in  soft  paper, 
but  in  a  white  wrapper,  and  the  porter  waits 
for  the  wrapper  and  the  box,  as  well  as  for  the 
expected  manc'ia  of  twenty  or  thirty  centesimi. 

Gloves  are  usually  bought  at  the  maker's, 
and  are  good  and  inexpensive.  Anybody  want- 
ing a  peculiar  cut  or  shade  of  quality  can  have 
them  made  to  his  taste.  In  this,  as  in  so  much 
else,  Italian,  and  especially  Venetian,  retail  trade 
harks  back  to  ancient  types. 
231 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

Akin  to  the  guantiere,  or  glove-maker,  is  the 
worker  in  leather.  All  sorts  of  articles  are 
made,  and  books  are  elaborately  bound  in  em- 
bossed, coloured,  and  gilded  leather. 

An  industry  peculiar  to  Venice  is  repre- 
sented in  the  bead-shop,  which  is  a  sort  of  by- 
product of  the  glass  factory.  It  is  a  strangely 
seductive  place,  and  whoever  enters  it  feels 
impelled  to  purchase  girdles  and  necklaces,  bags 
and  hatpins,  not  to  speak  of  strings  of  beads 
of  many  hues  and  shapes  for  home-threading. 
Who  wears  the  beads  bought  in  Venice  is  a 
dark  mystery  to  me.  Perhaps  it  is  a  part  of 
the  bigger  problem,  what  becomes  of  things 
sold  at  bazaars.  For  "  a  bazaar  at  home ''  is 
an  excuse  for  much  bead-buying  and  much 
worrying  of  the  Anglo-American  colony  in 
Venice.  I  once  knew  a  busy  Englishwoman 
who  was  asked  by  a  slight  acquaintance  in 
England  to  send  her  a  hundred  hatpins,  all 
different^  by  return  of  post !  Bead-stringing  is 
an  occupation  which  augments  the  income  of 
many  a  Venetian  woman.  It  is  not  very  lucra- 
tive, but  it  demands  little  intelligence  or  skill, 
and  can  be  practised  under  agreeable  condi- 
232 


Topieai  i\ 


THK    MILK    BOAT. 


Varia 

tions.  All  through  the  summer  visitors  to 
Venice  are  familiar  with  the  sight  of  women 
seated  outside  their  doors  with  trays  of  beads 
on  their  knees,  and  in  their  hands  the  long 
pierced  wires  which  so  greatly  facilitate  the 
work  of  strino;infj. 

A  good  deal  of  lace-making  and  embroidery 
is  now  done  as  home  work  ;  the  greater  and 
better  portion,  however,  is  produced  in  lace 
schools  attached  to  the  large  lace  emporiums. 
The  long  room,  with  its  lines  of  figures,  many 
of  them  graceful  and  girlish,  bending  over 
frames,  is  a  scene  worthy  of  an  artist's  study. 
Venetian  women,  in  spite  of  painters'  enco- 
miums, are  really  far  less  beautiful  than  those 
of  many  other  parts  of  Italy,  notably  than 
their  near  relatives  in  the  hill-country  of  the 
N^eneto.  But  they  carry  themselves  well,  and 
the  mere  absence  of  ugly  hats  and  ill-fitting 
coats  is  an  immense  gain  to  their  appearance, 
and,  incidentally,  to  that  of  streets  and  campi 
through  which  they  move.  Their  heavy,  black, 
fringed  shawls  are  expensive  to  purchase,  but 
last  for  years,  and,  like  the  Spanish  mantilla, 
lend  grace  and  distinction  to  the  wearer.  Un- 
235 


Things   Seen  in  Venice 

like  the  mantilla,  however,  they  are  not  worn 
on  the  head,  save,  perhaps,  during  a  sudden 
storm.  Summer  and  winter  the  woman  of  the 
Venetian  popolo  goes  uncovered  on  scorching 
days,  sheltering  her  well-dressed  head  with  a 
parasol.  Whether  this  custom  proceeds  from 
vanity  or  from  economy,  and  the  beauty  of 
Venetian  hair  be  a  cause  or  an  effect,  is  a  prob- 
lem which,  from  the  nature  of  women,  cannot 
be  satisfactorily  determined. 

Certain  it  is  that  hair-dressing  is  a  fine  art 
with  them  ;  they  perform  the  office  of  coiffeuse 
for  each  other,  and  on  special  occasions  seek 
professional  skill.  But  their  belief  that  long 
hair  is  a  glory  induces  habits  contrary  to  the 
precepts  of  St.  Paul.  They  are  devout,  in  a 
certain  careless  fashion  ;  they  rarely  go  out  to 
their  morning's  work  or  marketing  without 
entering  a  church.  And  since  the  obligation 
of  dressing  in  one's  best  for  worship,  which  is 
so  inimical  to  week-day  church-going  with  the 
English  poor,  never  enters  the  mind  of  an 
Italian,  it  follows  that  the  Venetian  woman 
prays,  as  she  labours,  uncovered.  The  habit  is 
the  more  curious  because  in  bygone  days  Vene- 
236 


Varia 

tian  maidens  of  all  bat  the  poorest  families 
went  veiled  as  in  the  East,  and  the  ideas  of  the 
popolhio  regarding  the  seclusion  and  subjec- 
tion of  women  have  still  an  Eastern  tinge. 
Those  who  are  interested  in  the  homes  and 
customs  and  etiquette  of  the  people  are  advised 
to  read  the  chapter  on  home  life  in  Mr.  Horatio 
Brown's  *'  Life  on  the  Lagoons." 

Even  the  casual  visitor  to  Venice,  if  he  hire 
a  gondola  by  the  week,  may  see  one  Venetian 
interior.  The  gondolier  is  generally  pleased  to 
show  his  modest  home,  his  wife,  his  mother,  and 
some  pretty  children,  and  is  especially  proud  of 
his  neat  bedroom,  with  its  whitewashed  walls 
adorned  only  with  some  cheap  coloured  pictures 
of  saints,  its  walnut  furniture  and  excellent 
wooden  beds — iron  bedsteads  are  little  accounted 
of  in  these  circles.  But  the  visitors  will  prob- 
ably wax  more  enthusiastic  over  the  kitchen, 
with  its  pretty  flowered  plates,  its  really  splendid 
secchle,  and  other  copper  pans  and  brass  utensils, 
kept  bright,  not  with  pernicious  polishes,  but 
with  sand,  lemon-juice,  and  a  great  deal  of 
elbow  grease.  These  secchie  are  no  longer  to 
be  found  in  every  Venetian  kitchen,  for  now 
237 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

that  water  from  the  aqueduct  is  laid  on  to  all 
the  larger  houses,  big  receptacles  for  fetch- 
ing and  keeping  well-water  are  no  longer  in 
demand. 

The  picturesque  but  unwholesome  days  when 
Venice  depended  on  springs  that  were  generally 
brackish,  and  when  great  skins  of  sweet  water 
were  rowed  over  the  Lagoon  from  the  Brenta 
and  hawked  through  the  streets,  are  almost 
forgotten  now  that  every  palazzo  and  the  well 
of  every  campo  are  supplied  from  the  hill- 
country  near  Bassano  with  water  delicious  to 
the  taste,  and  cool  in  the  hottest  summer. 

Venice  has  good  milk  as  well  as  good  water, 
the  product  of  the  pastures  of  the  near  main- 
land. One  large  landowner  has  depots  in 
several  quarters  of  the  city,  and  his  milk  can 
be  bought  sterilized,  in  sealed  bottles. 

Meat  is  not  very  good,  and  looks  paiticularly 
untempting  in  a  dark  shop  in  a  dirty  calle. 
Happily,  the  butchers  always  close  at  midday. 

Poultry   is    indifferent  and    dear,   especially 

when  the  bidding  is  against  the  purveyors  to 

the  big  hotels  ;  but  at  certain  seasons  excellent 

wild-fowl  from  the  salt  marshes  can  be  obtained. 

238 


Varia 

Fish  is  as  good  as  in  the  days  when  Madame 
Pio/zi  (Mrs.  Thrale)  praised  it.  The  Adriatic 
is,  in  this  respect,  very  unlike  the  Mediterranean, 
and  there  are  several  species  peculiar  to  its 
upper  reaches,  which  have  quaint  names  and 
nice  flavours.  Especially  good  are  mullet 
[tr'igTui),  a  fleshy  fish  called  coda  d'l  rospo 
(literally, "  toad's  tail ''],  and  a  kind  of  enlarged 
prawn  called  scampo.  Scampi  are  usually 
served  as  a  contorno  (garniture)  to  other  boiled 
fish.  The  fish  is  always  fresh ;  the  supply 
tends  to  be  less  than  the  demand,  and  the 
best  fish  is  not  sent  off  by  train,  as  in  English 
fishing  towns,  nor  is  it  kept  on  ice  in  fish- 
mongers' shops.  The  cook  buys  in  the  fish- 
market,  or  from  some  hawker  who  has  himself 
been  there  betimes  ;  and  sometimes  after  rough 
weather  in  Lent,  a  late  comer  will  find  the 
stalls  as  bare  as  Mother  Hubbard's  cupboard. 
The  picturesque  little  fish-market  in  Campiello 
Pescaria  of  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni,  and  the 
large  one  at  the  Rialto,  are  well  worth  a  visit 
on  a  fine  morning,  while  the  erberia — fruit  and 
vegetable  quay — in  front  of  the  old  buildings 
of  Rialto,  should  be  seen  late  in  the  afternoon, 
239  K 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

when  the  barges  arrive  from  the  mainland  to 
deposit  their  green  freights. 

It  is,  of  course,  on  account  of  this  transport 
from  afar  and  the  clazio  (impost)  exacted  on  all 
food-stuffs  brought  into  the  city,  that  fruit, 
tiowers,  and  vegetables  are  less  cheap  and  plen- 
tiful in  Venice  than  in  other  Italian  towns. 
While  of  the  things  accounted  necessaries  of 
life — corn,  wine,  and  oil — wine  alone  is  cheap 
in  Venice.  Oil  is  dear,  since  it  is  imported 
from  Southern  Italy,  the  climate  of  the  Veneto 
being  too  vigorous  for  olives.  The  poorest 
classes  buy  bread  very  sparingly;  their  fari- 
naceous food  chiefly  takes  the  shape  of  polenta 
— a  solid  porridge  of  maize  flour,  turned  out  on 
one  rounded  wooden  board  and  flattened  with 
another — which  is  eaten  in  great  chunks,  hot 
or  cold.  This  polenta^  with  a  little  fried  fish, 
or  some  strange  molluscs  and  perhaps  a  salad, 
form  the  working-day  dinner  of  the  gondolier, 
his  family,  and  his  social  equals,  varied  with 
rice  and  cabbage,  or  with  risi-bisi,  a  risotto 
made  with  peas.  In  the  evening  there  may  be 
more  polenta  and  soup  or  vegetables.  Beans, 
hot  or  cold,  with  oil  and  vinegar,  or  made 
240 


Varia 

into  soup,  supply  the  greater  portion  of  the 
|)oor  man's  proteids  ;  they  are  the  product 
of  the  northern  V'eneto,  and  of  excellent 
(juality. 

The  same  praise  cannot  be  bestowed  upon 
the  wine,  save  that  produced  in  certain  districts 
— notably  near  Conegliano.  In  good  years  the 
rather  sweet  white  wine,  when  new,  is  exceed- 
ingly pleasant,  and  the  Englishman  in  Venice 
drinks  it  readilv.  But  the  Venetian,  as  a  rule, 
only  likes  red  wine,  and  red  wine  does  not  keep 
in  Venice.  Only  at  the  time  of  vintage  is  the 
red  wine  of  the  Veneto  (the  best  comes  from 
the  neighbourhood  of  Verona)  really  good  drink- 
ing. Then  the  pure,  fresh,  garnet-coloured 
grape-juice  may  be  had  for  fifty  or  sixty  centimes 
a  litre,  and  in  exceptional  years  even  for  forty- 
five  centimes.  But  this  autumnal  superabund- 
ance of  v'uio  nostrano  maketh  sad  the  heart  of 
man  dwelling  in  the  vicinity  of  a  wine-shop, 
for  it  leads  to  revelry  by  night.  The  men  of 
the  \'enet i an  ^;oy;o/o  are  not  tempted  to  solitary 
drinking.  Even  the  best  of  wine  in  their  opinion 
requires  the  additional  flavour  of  conversation ; 
and  each  of  them  has  his  favourite  osteria, 
241 


Varia 

which  serves  him  as  a  club.  There,  in  a  room 
with  a  stove,  comfortably  stuffy  after  the  cold 
of  their  own  dwellings,  or  in  a  vine-shaded  yard 
dignified  by  the  name  of  "  garden,"  which  is  so 
much  cooler  than  the  stifling  kitchen  at  home, 
the  little  circle  of  habitues  meet  day  after  day, 
and  >ip  their  wine,  drive  bargains  and  discuss 
the  affairs  of  the  neighbourhood — the  immediate 
neighbourhood,  that  is ;  for  the  births,  deaths, 
and  marriages,  failures  and  successes  of  other 
quarters  do  not  concern  them ;  they  are  "foreign 
affairs,"'  about  which  no  one  can  know  much  or 
feel  strongly. 

The  habit  of  spirit-drinking  is  unhappily 
growing,  favoured  by  the  cold,  raw  winter 
climate.  Workmen  going  forth  to  the  day's 
labours  on  a  chilly  morning  are  apt  to  fortif\' 
themselves  with  a  hicchierhio  of  grappa — a 
kind  of  coarse  brandy — which,  at  that  early 
hour,  is  so  much  more  tjuickly,  easily,  and 
cheaply  procured  than  hot  coffee.  This  practice 
cannot  but  undermine  the  constitution,  especially 
when  no  food  is  taken  till  the  day  is  old.  The 
Venetian  is  wonderfully  indifferent  as  to  the 
hour  when  he  breaks  his  fast.  I  have  known 
243 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

gondoliers  do  a  hard  morning's  work  without 
touching  food  or  drink. 

In  conclusion,  it  may  be  well  to  say  a  few 
words  about  the  climate  and  the  health  of  the 
City  of  the  Lagoons. 

The  winters  are  perhaps  colder  than  in  Eng- 
land— that  is  to  say,  the  cold  is  more  continuous, 
and  one  feels  it  greatly,  for  there  is  less  comfort 
within  doors ;  the  gondola  is  not  so  warm  as 
a  brougham  ;  rapid  exercise  can  be  got  only  at 
the  Lido ;  and  the  draughty,  sunless,  stone- 
paved  calJi  are  infinitely  more  chilly  than  a 
hedge-bordered  road,  ^^enice  is  spared  the  ice 
and  snow  of  Bologna  (though  a  snowfall  occa- 
sionally occurs),  and  the  piercing,  dust-laden 
winds  of  Florence ;  but  in  December  and  January 
there  is  often  fog,  and  wild  weather  seawards 
which  sends  the  gulls  screaming  up  the  Cana- 
lazzo.  Spring  comes  sooner  and  more  certainly 
than  on  the  northern  side  of  the  Alps ;  but 
dwellers  in  Venice  miss  its  sweet  signals — the 
bleating  of  lambs  and  the  song  of  nesting  birds, 
the  scent  of  violets,  the  feeling  of  rising  sap, 
the  surprise  of  opening  buds. 

Summer  is  really  uninterruptedly  warm. 
244 


Varia 

Early  in  May  winter  clothes  are  ])iit  away— 
with  every  precaution  against  the  industrious 
moth— and  muslins  and  very  thin  tweeds  or 
flannels  become  the  only  wear.  Light  over- 
coats and  wraps  should,  however,  be  kept  at 
hand  for  use  during  the  chilly  hours  or  days 
following  a  thunderstorm. 

There  are  spells  of  uncomfortable  heat  which 
are  the  more  trying  because  the  difference 
between  the  night  and  day  temperature  in 
Venice  is  verv  slight.  Still,  one  is  well  content 
to  linger  there  till  the  Festival  of  St.  James 
the  Apostle  (July  25),  when,  according  to 
Venetian  superstition  and  everybody's  observa- 
tion, the  swallows  seek  new  quarters.  Then 
zanzaiueii  (mosquito-curtains)  must  be  put  up. 
For  the  departure  of  the  birds  who  had  preyed 
on  them  leaves  the  exasperating  insects  free  to 
prey  on  Venice,  and  they  fatten  and  multiply 
tiir autumn  rains  extinguish  them.-  But  for 
these  pests  and  the  prevalence  of  the  exhausting 

f-  Mosquitoe?  are  kept  alive  all  the  year  in  some  of  the 
hotels  hv  excessive  heating  and  a  continual  supply  ol 
fre>h  aliment.  In  private  apartment^  they  are  rarely 
seen  or  heard  hefore  July. 


Things   Seen   in   Venice 

scirocco  wind,  September  and  October  would 
be  the  pleasantest,  as  they  are  certainly  the 
loveliest,  months  in  the  Lagoon. 

From  questions  constantly  put  to  me,  I  gather 
that  there  is  a  general  impression  in  this  country 
that  Venice  is  an  extremely  unhealthy  city,  and 
in  summer  positivel}^  pestilential.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  has  less  illness  and  a  smaller  death- 
rate  than  most  other  towns  of  the  same  size ; 
and  there  is,  and  can  be,  nothing  especially 
unwholesome  about  the  summer  months.  Twice 
a  day,  as  we  have  already  noticed,  the  fresh 
sea- water  flows  in  through  the  "  Gates"  of  the 
Lidi :  twice  a  day  it  ebbs,  carrying  with  it  the 
refuse  of  the  city.  It  does  not  cease  to  rise  and 
fall  and  perform  its  beneficent  operations  in 
summer,  nor  are  there  any  stagnant,  fever- 
breeding  waters  near  the  city,  which  at  that 
season  gains  in  salubrity  by  its  emptiness.  The 
least  wholesome  time  perhaps  is  spring,  because 
the  enormous  concourse  of  tourists  tends  to 
produce  insanitary  conditions.  INIoreover,  the 
Grand  Canal — the  spot  where  they  "  most  do 
congregate  *' — is  constantly  churned  up  in  a 
way  uncontemplated  by  the  old  Makers  of 
246 


Varia 

Venice,  as  the  penny  steamers  ply  in  rapid 
succession  to  take  up  passengers  who  await 
them  in  crowds  upon  every  pontoon. 

The  "smells  of  Venice'"'  are,  however,  far 
less  dangerous  to  health  than  the  fritture  of 
all  kinds  of  httle  fish  which  are  temptingly 
served  in  restaurants,  and  sometimes  appear  in 
the  cosmopolitan  menu  of  fashionable  hotels. 
They  are  caught  too  near  land  to  be  safe 
eating;  and  the  tourist  will  do  well  to  eschew 
them,  together  with  oysters,  salads  of  uncooked 
vegetables,  and  strawberries — grown  on  well- 
m?unn-ed  lands,  and  picked  and  packed  by  dirty 
fingeis. 

But  the  greatest  risks  run  by  visitors  to 
\'enice  are  those  of  their  own  making.  The 
brilliant  sun  of  an  Italian  ^larch  or  April 
tempts  them  to  don  the  lightest  summer  gar- 
ments, and  P^nglish  girls  appear  in  cotton  gowns 
while  Venetians  are  still  wrapped  in  furs.  Then 
a  gondola  without  covering  is  not  the  same  as 
an  open  carriage.  Damp,  provocative  of  rheu- 
matic chills,  rises  from  the  water,  and  the  Italian 
sticks  to  the  /^/,-<^  till  summer  has  quite  begun. 
But  the  stranger  objects  to  Wvefchc:  he  thinks 
247 


Things  Seen  in  Venice 

it  stufFj — it  is  not  so  if  the  door  be  left  open — 
and  it  impedes  his  view.  The  sudden  chill  of 
sunset,  so  sensible  and  so  deadly  on  the  Riviera 
and  in  Southern  Italy,  is  indeed  not  felt  in 
Venice ;  but  the  Anglo-Saxon  tourist,  who, 
after  a  warm  and  tiring  day,  emerges  at  night 
from  the  heated  atmosphere  of  the  hotel  dining- 
room,  and  goes  forth  in  gondola  without  cover, 
and  with  very  insufficient  overcoats  and  wraps, 
certainly  does  his  best  to  court  sickness.  I  can 
only  add  that  if  he  succeeds  in  his  wooing,  he 
will  find  very  comfortable  quarters  in  the  English 
Nursing  Home  on  the  Giudecca. 


248 


INDEX 


A1)l)azia,  The,  53 
Accadeniia,  The,  50 
Acquedotto,  L',  165 
Agnstino  Stefani,  161 
AU'.ssandro  Leopardi,  86 
Alleys  and  court.s,  129 
Antiquity  dealers,  226 
Arsenal,  143 

B 

liaciuo   di   S.    Marco,  The, 

18.  54,  59 
Bakers,  225 

Baldassare  Longhena,  204 
Bancali,  The,  74 
Barbaro  Palace,  49 
Banhefta,  The,  179 
Basilica.  The,  99 
Bead-shop.  The,  232 
Bellini,  155 
"  Bigonzo,"  101 
Brenta,  The,  18,  165 
Bridges,  133 
Brnndolo.  17,  166 
Brown,  Horatio,  53,  152 
Browning,  Robert,  46 
Building  a  palace,  67 


"  Buranei,"  Tlie,  200 
"Buranelle,"  The,  200 
Burano,  Isle  of,  155 
Byron,  49 


Ca'  Capollo,  The,  49 

Ca'  d'  Oro,  The,  49 

Cadore,    Mountains  of  the, 
165 

CalleseUa,  133 

CalU,  or  alleys.  68,  120, 137 
:    Canierlenghi  Palace,  The,  58 
!    Campanile.  The,  18,  88 
j    Cain'pi,  or  squares,  124,  128 

Canipo  del  ftlancino,  57 

Canipo  S.  Gallo,  92 

Canipo  S.  Margherita,  81, 129 

Canipo  S.  Polo,  81 

Canal  of  Cannareggio,  21 

"  Canalazzo,  11,"  39 

Cannareggio,  127 

Cannareggio,   Canal  of,   21, 
45 

Carita,  Church  of  the,  50 

Carpaccio,  143 

"Casa  degli   Spiriti,"  The, 
157 

Castello,  127 


249 


Ind 


ex 


Cavalchina,  The,  194 
Cavalli  Palace.  49 
Cemeterj,  The,  213 
Chioggia,  17,  166,  175 
Christiiias  fairs,  186 
Churches,  50 
Climate,  235 
Clock  Tower,  The,  87 
Corner  della  Ca'  Grande,  49 
Comer  della  Regina  Palace, 

46 
Corpus   Domini   procession, 

200 
Carti,  130 
Cortile,  The,  114 
Coryat,  113 
Cosenz,  General,  162 
Custom  House.  The,  18 


Daniele  Manin,  Doge,  161 
''Delle  Massegne,"  101 
Divisions  of  Venice,  127 
Dona',  The,  49 
Dorsoduro,  18,  127 
Drinks  to  be  enjoyed,  82 
Droghieri,  The.  222 
Ducal  Palace,  The,  110 
Duchess  de  Berri,  The,  63 


Earthquake.  An,  85 
Euganean  Hills,  The,  170 
Evelyn,  John,  17,  87 


Fairs,  186 
Farmaeia,  The,  221 


Fehe,  The,  179 
Fenice,  The,  197 
Fenies,  73 
Ferroy  The.  179 
Fish,  239 
Florian's  Cafe,  81 
Fondaco  dei    Turchi,    T 

49,  63 
Fondamente  Nuore.  The  1 
Foscari  Palace,  The,  44 
Foundations  of  Venice,  TL 

64 
Fruit,  240 
Funerals,  211 
Fusina,  18,  165 

G 

Galleggiante,  59 
Gastaklo,  The,  74 
Gentile  Bellini,  92 
Giants'  Staircase,  The,  115 
Giovedi  Santo,  199 
Giudecca  Channel,  The,  IS 
Giustiniani  Palace,  49 
Glassmaking,  155 
Goldoni,  197 
Gondola,  The,  21.  166 
Gondolier,  The,  31 
Granaries.  Old.  143 
Grand  Canal,  21,  29,  39.  54 
Greek  Church,  143 
Grimani  Palace.  46 
Goariento  of  Padua,  115 

H 
Health  of  Venice.  The,  244 
Home-life.  237 


250 


Index 


H.^rses  of  St.  Mark's,  The, 

S6 
Hos])ital,  English,  147 
Hospital     of    Doge     Pictro 

Orseolo,  92 

I 
Impressions,  First,  25 
Inlands,  152 


Labbia  Palace,  The,  45 
Lace-making,  235 
Lagoons,  The,    18,   30,   43, 

151 
La  Grazia,  166 
Lagnna  Morta,  The,  166 
Lavena's  tea-rooms,  82 
Layard,  Sir  Henry,  49 
Libroria  Vecchia,  The,  106 
Lido,  The.  22,  143 
Litorale  di  S.  Erasmo,  157 
Loggia,  The,  88 
Longhena,  53 

M 
Madonna       della      Salute, 

Church  of,  31 
Madonna  of  the  Parasol,  158 
Malamocco,  18 
Manicoiiiio,  The,  166 
Manin  Palace,  46 
Mai  ine  Custom  House,  54 
Meat,  238 
Merceria,  The,  224 
Mestre,  18 
Mezzanino,  The   63 


Milk,  238 

Mocenigo  Palaces,  The,  49 

Molo,  or  esplanade,  The,  106 

Mosaics,  100 

Mostarda,  193 

Murano,  Isle  of,  155 

Museo  Civico,  The,  60 


Names  of  the  bridges,  138 
Names  of  the  calli,  137 
Nicolo  Barattiero,  105 
Numbers  of  the  houses,  127 


Pala  d'  Ore,  The,  102,  190 
Palazzo  Reale,  The,  59 
Pali,  The,  29 
Palladio,  109 
Papadopoli  Palace,  46 
Parishes,  128 
Patriarchal  Seminary,  The, 

54 
Pellestrina,  176 
Pesaro  Palace,  46 
Pesca  di  Beneficeiiza,  198 
Piano  nohilc,  64 
Piazza  of  S.  Marco,  The,  78 
Piazzetta,  The,  30,  53,  59, 

105 
Piazzetta  del  Leoncini,  105 
Pietra  del  Bando,  The,  113 
Pietro  Aretino,  57 
Pigeons,  The,  88 
Pisani  Palace,  49 
Piscina,  141 
Plague  Churches,  Votive,  53 


251 


Index 


Porta  della  Carta,  The,  114 
Porti,  The,  151 
Poultry.  238 
Poveglia,  169 
Processions,  200 
Prociiratie  Nuove,  The,  92 
Promenades,  142 
Public  Gardens.  144 
Punta  della  Salute,  The,  59 

R 

Railway  Viaduct,  The,  161 
Redentore,   Church   of  the, 

147 
Regatta,  The  summer,  59 
Rezzouico  Palace,  46 
Rialto,  The,  43,  54,  58 
Riccio,  114 
Riva,  The,  59.  142 
Royal  Garden,  The,  106 
Ruga,  138 

S 

Sacco     della     Misericordia, 

The,  157 
Saibante,  The,  49 
;SV<7rt,  or  hall.  The,  67,  VI 
Salizxada,  138 
S.  Aponal,  142 
S.  Baruaba,  50 
S.  Croce,  127 
S.  Elena,  Isle  of,  144 
S.  Eustacchio.  or  S.  Stae,  50 
S.  Francesco  del  Diserto,  157 
S.  Geminiano,  Church  of,  95 
St.  George,  Chapel  of,  53 
S.  Geremia,  21,  45 


I    S.  Giorgio  in  Alga,  158 

S.  Giorgio  Maggiore,  143 
I   S.  Gregorio,  Church  of,  53 
I   S.  Marco,  127 
I    S.  Maria  del  Carmine,  129 
i    St.  Mark's,  95 
j    S.  Lazzaro,  166 
I    S.  Lorenzo  Giustiniaui,  161 
i    S.  Nicolo  del  Lido,  171 

St.  Peter  Martyr,  155 

S.  Pietro  in  Castello,  144 

S.  Pietro  in  Volta,  169 

S.  Polo,  127 

S.  Samuele,  50 

S.  Servolo,  166 

S.  Simeone  Piccolo,  Church 
of,  45 

S.  Spuito,  169 

St.  Theodore.  105 

"S.  Trovaso,"  128 

S.  Tidal,  50 

S.  Vio,  53 

S.  Zaccaria,  143 

SS.  Ermagora  e  Fortunato, 
or  S.  Marcuola,  50 

San  Michele,  Isle  of,  155 
-Santa  Fosca,  Chapel  of,  157 

Sta.  Maria  della  Salute,  53 

Sansovino,  SS 

Scala  d'  Oro,  The,  115 

Scaizi,  Church  of  the,  45 

Sestieyi,  127 

Sottoportico,  The,  133 

Spezieri,  The,  222 

fSquerOj  134 

"  Station  bus,"  The,  22 

Steamers  on  the  canals,  35, 
165 


252 


Index 


Tenazza,  The,  67 
Thorough  fares,  Frequented, 

141 
Tintoretto,  115 
Torcello,  Isle  of,  155 
Torre    dell    Orologio,   The, 

86 
Tradespeople,  221 
Tmghrtti,  The,  26,  76 
Trac^hetto  of  the  Madonetta, 

49 
•  Tram,"  The,  57 


U 

Ultiiiio  plaiw,  The,  72 


Vendraniin-Calergi     Palace, 

46,  63 
'*  Venice  Treacle,"  222 

AV 
Wagner  concerts,  60 
Water-supply,  The,  238 
Well-lieads,  130 
Wet  day  in  Venice,  Miseries 

of  a,  35 
Wine,  241 

Winged  Lion,  The,  105 
Women,  Venetian,  235 


Zattere,  The,  144 
Zecca,  or  Mint,  The,  109 


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